


all my dreams are coming true (now that they're about me and you)

by images_in_words



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:00:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 29,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25557733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/images_in_words/pseuds/images_in_words
Summary: She felt an acute, sudden pain upon realizing that she wanted nothing more than to climb inside Santana's heart and fix whatever damage had been done to it - because, well, someone should. No one, she declared silently, should have to live her life feeling like a cornered animal, snarling and slashing at anything that got too close. (AU)
Relationships: Rachel Berry/Santana Lopez
Comments: 16
Kudos: 72





	1. Chapter 1

Where it began, exactly, Santana could not say. She couldn't put her finger on a particular moment, or a single event, that marked when Rachel Berry had become something more to her than just a short girl with a huge voice. More than a classmate, or the captain and acknowledged star of the Glee Club. More, even, than just the most unlikely friend she could ever have imagined herself having.

When she became _everything_.

She just knew that it _had_ happened, that there existed a bright, golden line in her life that separated everything into two distinct sections: _before_ Rachel, and _after_ Rachel, and that things had changed for the better as soon as that line had been crossed.

It was as if everything on the "before" side was cloaked in fog, all hazy, grey, and murky. She could recall sadness, anger and confusion, an ache of helplessness that had pained her for days on end. There were bright spots amid the cloudiness, of course – Brittany. Quinn. Her _abuela_ , when she had loved her.

 _Abuela._ The word might as well mean "pain" now, instead of "grandmother."

There had been other friendships on that side of the line, of course. Friends who had attended birthday parties when she was a little girl, and then much different ones who had attended much different parties when she got older. The innocent touch of a girl's hand on her shoulder, declaring lifelong loyalty with the certainty only the very young know, mingled far too quickly with the less innocent touch of a boy's hand elsewhere, trying to make her feel things she couldn't and never would, no matter how much she tried to convince herself she wanted to feel them.

She had always loved to sing, but she hadn't understood _why_ , entirely - until the first time she saw and heard Rachel Berry sing. And then, she knew. Suddenly, it all became clear, as though a veil had been lifted from her eyes.

In that moment, she saw the girl with the long, lustrous brown hair close her large, luminous eyes and _merge,_ somehow, with the song she was singing. She watched Rachel become one with the song, connecting everything inside her - all that she was and hoped to be one day - with the melody, creating a stream of sound that wrapped itself around her in a powerful embrace. In that one moment of revelation, Santana _knew._ She _understood_ , finally. Seeing the expression on Rachel's face as she sang, she realized it was the same one her own face wore whenever she, too, connected her voice and her soul with a song.

It was the release of pain, the absolution of sorrow, the negation of years of hurt and bewilderment. It was the absolute knowledge of exactly who she was in the world, and for those few, fleeting minutes, no one and nothing could touch her.

It was _freedom_.

It was the complete and total perfection of her being, spilling out into the air like stardust.

Maybe _that_ was when it started. In that darkened auditorium, with the only light in the room directly above Rachel, bathing her in an almost ethereal glow, and the sound of freedom and escape reverberating everywhere around them.

* * *

The first time Rachel ever saw Santana Lopez, the cheerleader was walking down the hallway, flanked by two blonde fellow cheerleaders, and all Rachel could think was that she looked like a dark angel, like a former demon still just slightly too wild for heaven to tame completely. There was a haughtiness, an arrogance in her expression, for sure - but Rachel could see the pain and uncertainty that was not quite hidden behind that mask of cold dismissal, the fear behind the flash of anger in her dark eyes when she'd caught Rachel staring.

Words had been said then, vicious and cutting, words meant to inflict pain; but strangely, Rachel felt hurt not for herself, but for the girl who had said them. She wondered what it was inside Santana that made her lash out that way, what made her feel like her survival depended upon keeping everyone but Quinn and Brittany more than an arm's length away.

She felt an acute, sudden pain upon realizing that she wanted nothing more than to climb inside Santana's heart and fix whatever damage had been done to it - because, well, _someone_ should. No one, she declared silently, should have to live her life feeling like a cornered animal, snarling and slashing at anything that got too close.

Weeks passed, and things continued on in much the same way they had the first time their eyes had met. Rachel stared, transfixed by the beauty and the pain she saw in Santana's face every time their gazes locked, and Santana hissed and sneered and growled out insults as only she could. But each time, Rachel saw a little more deeply into the girl with the flawless skin and stormy eyes. Each time, she saw the true face behind the mask, the one that no one else had looked long enough to see, because everybody else was too fearful to maintain eye contact with Santana for more than a few seconds.

It was plain enough for Rachel to see, and it haunted her days and nights as she turned it over and over in her mind.

 _This is not who I am_ , her eyes had said. _Help me. Who am I?_

Neither girl could have imagined that they would begin to find out together, after one fateful song was sung in the auditorium, in a moment when Rachel hadn't even been aware of Santana's presence. Santana had, in fact, left before she could be seen, blindly stumbling out into the hallway, tears spilling down her cheeks, hot and angry and so, so fearful. A connection had been made in that moment, a seed planted, and neither of them could have dreamed then how bright and beautiful the flower that would bloom from that seed would one day be.

* * *

To say that it was a shock to Rachel (not to mention the rest of the Glee Club) when Santana and her two blonde besties, Quinn Fabray and Brittany Pierce, sauntered their way into the choir room to audition for membership in the club, would be a huge understatement. It was even more of a shock when the three Cheerios turned out to be excellent singers and dancers, and their acceptance into the club was met with great enthusiasm by Mr. Schuester and the rest of the New Directions.

For her part, Rachel had been mesmerized by the way Santana danced, all serpentine and sinuous, as though her body had been fashioned specifically for the purpose of enthralling all who watched her. In tandem with her voice, which was every bit as dark and smoky as her complexion, this made Santana nothing less than the pure embodiment of seduction - pure, heated desire in a cheerleader's pleated skirt.

But there was more to it than that, beyond the undeniable power of Santana's sex appeal (which Rachel had to admit had affected her far more than she would have thought was possible). No, there was something else, something more. For the first time, Rachel had seen something else in Santana's face, heard it in her voice, watched in fascination as it was expressed in the motion of her limbs: real, honest joy.

The girl had actually laughed, long and loud, when the song was over. That hearty, full-throated laugh echoed throughout the room in the stunned silence that had followed, before the assembled Glee Clubbers had begun to clap and cheer and hoot and scream. Santana's laughter was gorgeous and melodic, and it made Rachel think of a waterfall spilling down, cold and clear, from the top of a mountain somewhere.

It was the most beautiful thing she had heard, Rachel decided, since the first time she had heard Barbra sing.

And this time, when their eyes locked and Rachel refused to look away once again, there was no fear in Santana's eyes. No pain, no uncertainty, no fear. Only happiness to be here, now, in this place, where whatever tormented her in the world outside could not follow. This, Rachel decided, was Santana's true face, and it was breathtaking to behold.

An understanding passed between them then, and then Santana's look changed. Rachel grew dizzy and heated at the way Santana's eyes took her in, devouring her with the intensity of that gaze. No one had ever looked at her like _that_ before, seen her the way Santana was seeing her now. She shivered at the feeling that arose from a place within her that she'd barely ever really thought about before. It felt as though she were burning from the inside out, the flame spreading out from the center of her being to set her skin alight.

Santana smiled – a _real_ smile, not the sarcastic smirk everyone was used to seeing - and she and Brittany and Quinn sat on the three empty chairs between her and Finn. Santana sat next to her, then Brittany, and Quinn took the seat next to Finn. Santana chatted amiably with the two Cheerios as they got situated, but even as she talked, her hand brushed against Rachel's, then grasped it in a firm but gentle squeeze. Rachel was too shocked by the unexpected contact to speak or do anything else, and suddenly it was all Rachel could do not to either pass out or run to the girls' room to splash some cold water on her face. She'd never felt anything like what the mere touch of Santana's fingers interlaced with hers was making her feel. It was as though her bones were all liquefying inside her, making her feel weightless, with Santana's long, strong fingers the only things keeping her from floating away.

Mr. Schuester's voice jolted Rachel out of her daze when he asked if anyone else had anything they'd like to sing. Finn and Artie moved forward, and soon the room was filled with music once again.

Rachel, however, was lost not in the performance (for once), but in the feeling of whatever it was Santana and her lovely fingers were doing to her hand, sending the most amazing tingles up her arm to travel throughout her body and settle in her lower abdomen. Sound and motion passed by in a blur. But all too soon, the bell was ringing and Santana was releasing her hand. Rachel bit back a whimper at the loss of that pleasant warmth, though it was not enough to cause all the strange and wonderful new sensations coursing through her to stop.

Especially when the way Santana was smirking at her – ah, _there_ it was, that damned smirk of hers – finally registered, and she realized it was a different kind of smirk than the one she was used to seeing. This one was inviting and alluring, not harsh and dismissive like the one she had seen so many times before. And when the raven-haired Cheerio linked pinkies with her teammates, then turned on her heel and walked away, she left the room with a swing to her hips that left Rachel's mouth suddenly dry as dust and her thighs clenched together so tightly it was almost painful.

Once they were gone, some of the other club members rushed up to her with puzzled looks and curious questions, asking what _that_ was all about; but all Rachel could say was that she honestly didn't know what was going on, or why _._ However, what she _didn't_ say, regardless of whether she understood it, was that she really, really liked the way she felt right then.


	2. Chapter 2

Santana would not describe herself as a person who was often spontaneous. She had her moments of impulsive action - particularly when her infamous temper was inflamed - but for the most part, she would say that she was a planner. A plotter. A schemer. She was proud of her ability to look at a situation and determine how to turn it to her best advantage, whether in class (cultivating good relationships with otherwise difficult teachers), Cheerios (determining which girls might fancy themselves as threats to the Unholy Trinity's hold on power, and thinking up ways to disabuse them of that notion), or elsewhere (how many times she'd gotten out of detention with a batting of the eyes and a sad pout – she'd lost count of the times _that_ had happened).

And yet she had gone into the choir room with no forethought at all, no plan for how to deal with these new and terrifyingly intense feelings she found herself having for Rachel. All it had taken was one look at the girl's large chocolate brown eyes, her dark, lustrous hair, and _oh god_ those long, long legs in that short, short skirt, and Santana had been unable to resist the impulse to touch her. Granted, she'd done so in the most innocent way possible, but still - she had never felt anything quite as thrilling as what she'd felt when she'd let her fingers brush against Rachel's hand.

It was inexplicable. It was unsettling. It was almost beyond comprehension.

It was freaking _fantastic._ It was addictive. And Santana wanted more. Much, much more.

She felt intoxicated, dizzy and unsteady on her feet. Rachel Berry had somehow worked her way into her bloodstream. Santana craved more of her, and all she knew was that she needed, one way or another, to get closer to the girl.

Because she needed to know how Rachel had done it. How she had seen inside her, looked straight past all the walls and locked doors surrounding her innermost self, through the anger, the distrust and most of all, the nearly all-consuming fear that lived within her, to the true Santana that lay at the very core of her being. The one that no one, not even Quinn and Brittany, had seen since childhood.

It was terrifying to realize that one thing she'd always thought would scare her more than anything else in the world had suddenly become the thing she wanted the most, and she had no idea how that could be. She was actually afraid to find out.

But she was even more afraid of _not_ knowing.

* * *

Rachel came home from school still in a daze, having walked home through a fog that permeated her brain and made rational, conscious thought extraordinarily difficult. She walked up the stairs to her room, dropped her bag full of school books and sheet music to the floor with a thump, and then dropped herself onto her bed in the same way. She felt exhausted, yet more _alive_ than she could remember ever being.

All she could think about was the warm touch of Santana's hand in her own, and the blood quickening in her veins as the cheerleader's fingers moved against hers. The speed of her heart pounding in her chest, like some kind of bird crashing against its cage after remembering that it could fly, her pulse racing at the look on Santana's gorgeous face, just before she'd exited the choir room. She felt herself growing warm at the memory of what she could only describe as the hungry smile with which the girl had gifted her.

And in that moment Rachel knew that she would gladly set herself on a plate for Santana and let herself be devoured by her, slowly, piece by piece. She would enjoy every second if it meant that Santana would keep looking at her like that, until there was nothing left of her to consume, and she was reborn in the song that would spill from her lips immediately afterwards.

As the song said: something had changed within her. Something was not the same.

In the space of a few labored breaths, in the fire that had scorched her skin and settled way down deep in her chest, her stomach, and elsewhere, Rachel had begun to transform. Something so far inside her, in a place in her body for which she had no name, was working its way out of that place, through her very flesh and bones, replacing them with something different, something unknown. Something wild and dangerous, wonderful and mysterious.

It made her want to sing with happiness, but when she opened her mouth, all that emerged was the panting of her breath and a low, shivering moan as the thing inside her worked its way up into her throat, and when she cried out with Santana's name on her lips, she knew that her voice would sound forever different to her own ears from that moment on.

* * *

The expected text messages came through fast and furious when Santana turned on her phone after taking a long, hot shower. Quinn. Brittany, of course. Puck. Kurt. Mercedes. Tina. Even Mike. They were all asking the same questions, and Santana had no answers for them, even after forty minutes of standing under the nearly scalding hot water and letting it pelt at her in an attempt to let the steam draw them forth, as though it were some kind of mystic ritual.

How could she possibly explain anything to them when she could hardly understand what was happening herself?

All she could tell them was that she'd been in an unusual mood, and that no, she had no idea what had brought it on - because she couldn't tell them that she knew _exactly_ what had brought it on, and that she knew it wasn't going to pass anytime soon.

Fascination had taken hold, and she didn't want it to let go.

So after firing off one terse reply after another to all the Glee club members who had sought different answers to the intriguing questions pervading their collective consciousness, Santana decided to send a message to the one person who hadn't texted her, biting her lip as she typed it out.

_Hey Rachel. What's up?_

She lay on her bed with her phone in hand, resting on her stomach, which felt tight with anticipation. Santana Lopez was nervous, which was crazy because Santana Lopez did _not_ get nervous. Not before national cheerleading championship competitions. Not before crucial math tests. Not _ever._

Then why were her hands trembling as she waited to receive a reply?

_Good evening, Santana. I am attempting to finish my homework, although I must admit that it has been difficult, as I have been rather...distracted since certain events took place earlier today._

Santana laughed aloud, both with relief at receiving a reply, and amusement at seeing how the girl texted pretty much exactly the same way she spoke. It should have annoyed her, but she actually found it kind of endearing.

_I know the feeling._

She pictured Rachel tapping her pen against her notebook, or twisting a lock of hair around her finger, as she searched for the perfect words with which to respond.

_Really? I must say I'm surprised. You've always seemed so cool and collected, except when you're angry with someone._

Santana frowned at this as she quickly typed back. _Well, looks can be deceiving._

_In this case, I hope not. At the risk of sounding entirely too bold, I admit that I rather enjoyed the way you looked in Glee today, so happy and free. It was wonderful._

The girl really _did_ see everything. _How?_

_It felt good to let loose like that. Q and Britt had fun too._

_You all will make excellent additions to the club. I'm already thinking about songs that will best suit your individual vocal ranges, as well as ones on which you would harmonize best with other members._

Santana rolled her eyes. Of course she wants to talk about _that,_ rather than our hot dance moves.

_I know you're probably rolling your eyes at me for that, Santana, but honestly – the club has been in serious need of more strong female voices, and yours is particularly strong._

'Okay, that's freaky,' Santana thought. 'What, does she have a sixth sense or something?' She decided it was time to steer the conversation more in the direction she wanted it to go.

_So you've just been thinking about our performance? Not about anything else that happened at Glee today?_

Rachel was sure that Santana could see her blushing through the phone, despite the fact that they were only exchanging text messages.

_Well, yes. I mean, no. Not just about your performance, as superb as it was. There are other aspects of this afternoon's meeting that have me...preoccupied._

She imagined Santana reading that and raising one perfectly arched eyebrow, then smirking that...that _smirk_ of hers. That delicious, evil _smirk._

_Oh? Such as?_

_You know very well what I'm talking about, Santana._

_Maybe I do, maybe I don't. Come on. Enlighten me._

Tension coiled low in Rachel's abdomen as thoughts of Santana dancing, Santana staring at her with heat-filled eyes, Santana _touching_ her, invaded her mind. She didn't know if she could actually talk about this with anyone – much less Santana – just yet, but the Cheerio was forcing her hand. She decided to respond as honestly as she could, hoping that the other girl would choose not to mock her for it, as she had so frequently in the past.

_I don't even know how to address these thoughts. It's like there isn't any language that can adequately express them. It's exciting and confusing and amazing all at the same time._

Rachel held her breath, hoping that Santana could understand what she was trying to say, then exhaled with relief when she read the reply.

_Yeah, I get that. Look, I don't know what it means either. I just know that I like it._

They both smiled at that. And somehow, they both knew it, each picturing the other's face breaking out in a wide, delighted grin.

_I like it too, Santana. And I would not be...averse to such events occurring again in the near future. That is, if you find yourself so inclined._

Santana's grin grew even wider. She found herself laughing out loud as she typed her reply: _That can be arranged._

_And on that very positive note, I'm afraid that I must say goodnight, or this homework will not get done in time for me to complete my night-time skin care regimen before I go to bed._

Rachel hoped she hadn't made herself sound too dorky with that one, but she could only be who she was, whether in person or in text form.

_Yeah, I guess it *is* kinda late. See you tomorrow, then. Sleep well._

Biting her lip, the cheerleader thought that sounded almost too familiar, somehow, but whatever. She figured Rachel would appreciate the softer tone, after all the grief she'd given her in times past.

_Sweet dreams, Santana. xo_

Santana's eyes widened. A kiss and a hug, huh? Bold move, Berry.

_Goodnight, Rachel._

Phones shut off and set aside, each girl arose from where she had been - Rachel from her desk with notebook and textbooks left open and ignored, Santana from her bed, slipping out of her Cheerios uniform and into a tank top and shorts - knowing that tomorrow would not be the same as it would have been had their conversation not taken place.

Things had been set in motion. Changes were taking place within them both, changes that could not be avoided or denied now. Changes that would ripple out from them, out and around them, and the ground on which they walked would forever be shifted.


	3. Chapter 3

The sun rose sleepily over Lima, and Rachel and Santana rose with it from their respective beds. Rachel practically leapt from under her blanket to start the day with her half-hour elliptical workout, morning skin care regimen and a protein shake handed to her by one of her fathers. Santana groaned muffled curses into the mattress from beneath the pillows atop her head, then dragged herself into the shower and donned the armor that was her Cheerios uniform before trudging downstairs to greet her mother with the smallest possible smile and a minimum of conversation while she ate the toast with a smidgeon of butter that was all Coach Sylvester would allow her girls to eat in the morning.

The morning was bright and unusually warm for September, but Santana still opted to throw on her letterman jacket before saying goodbye to her mother with a nod and a tiny wave and walking out the door to begin the walk to McKinley.

(Coach Sylvester would approve of the additional cardio work involved.)

She had been looking forward to a bit of solitude on the walk, some alone time to think and breathe and sort out whatever it was she was feeling - but when she got to the bottom of her front steps, she found Quinn and Brittany standing there waiting for her with expectant looks on their faces. Sighing, Santana knew there would be no escape from them, and no solitude to be found. Brittany smiled her usual kind and open smile, and Santana could only return the smile, because really, how could anyone respond to Britt with anything but a smile? Quinn, on the other hand, merely narrowed her eyes and tightened her lips into a thin, straight line as she watched Santana approach them. The non-blonde member of McKinley's feared Unholy Trinity half-hoped that a crack would open in the sidewalk beneath their feet to swallow her whole, just so she could avoid the questions she knew were coming.

They walked together as they did in the halls of McKinley, with Brittany in the center, her pinky finger curled around Santana's, her other arm looped through Quinn's. Silently, they breathed in the warmth and watched the suburban scenery pass, and Santana was grateful for the quiet, though she knew it wouldn't last. She got the sense that they were either too nervous (Brittany) or too lacking in tact (Quinn) to break the silence, and Santana was honestly unsure as to whether she had anything to say that would make any sense to them.

The thing was, as close as the two Cheerios were to her, even they had rarely seen anything of Santana that she had not chosen to let them see. The mask she wore was very nearly permanently affixed, and the visage of supreme confidence and complete indifference to the thoughts and feelings of nearly everyone else but them was opaque and impenetrable. Yet Rachel Berry had seen through it so clearly and completely that her eyes had touched her in a place she had thought impossible to reach. There was no way to explain or describe it.

It was inexplicable, but somehow, it had happened; and because of it, Santana now found herself thinking once again about the tiny girl with the huge voice. The image of Rachel's face, coloring with heat as Santana held her hand, had taken up residence at the forefront of Santana's mind, and no matter how she tried to push it away, it wouldn't budge.

Brittany was the first to speak, as Santana had expected. The taller of the two blondes wasn't one to let the quiet stretch and linger on for very long, and she asked her question softly, as though trying to soothe the anger she anticipated it would incite. But Santana wasn't angry at all, and it came as a surprise to her to realize this. For nearly her entire life, Santana had responded to questions she didn't want to answer with snarls, growls and sharply worded put-downs expressly intended to push the questioner away, along with the thoughts and feelings such uncomfortable inquiries evoked within her. And yet, it didn't make her angry to talk about Rachel, as confused and unsettled as she was about her feelings. Quite the opposite, in fact; she felt calm and tranquil in a way that, while unfamiliar, was remarkably pleasurable, and she answered Brittany as best she could, in the simple words and quiet tone that she always used in speaking with her best friend.

Quinn, for her part, was coiled with tension as she listened to her friends talk. She simply couldn't understand how any of what she'd seen yesterday was even possible. Yes, Rachel was kind and sweet and gentle and not unattractive - but this was _Santana._ She'd known her as the girl whose standards were so high that they were nearly impossible for a mere human to meet. How could a miniature Barbra Streisand wanna-be have captured Santana's attention so suddenly and completely? To Quinn, the whole thing was incomprehensible, and in her typical blunt, direct manner, she said as much.

This did manage to raise Santana's ire. Okay, so Quinn's understanding wasn't required, but it really wasn't too much to ask for her other best friend to be supportive, or at least pretend to be. After all, no one had understood Quinn's relationships with Puck or Finn, but the head Cheerio had never been asked to explain them to anybody. So where did she get off asking Santana for an explanation?

Still, Santana found that she didn't have it in her to unleash her anger fully, as she had so many times in the past. It was as though the Rachel in her head was looking on and taking on an expression of disapproval at the way she was prepared to go after Quinn with her claws bared and sharpened to the perfect cutting edge. Suddenly, Santana felt exhausted by the anger and the fear behind it, and just wanted to let go of it all.

If she could only figure out how.

Quinn had stiffened, waiting for the verbal beat-down she was sure her words were going to incur; but when it didn't come, she was so shocked that a light breeze could have knocked her off her feet. So shocked, in fact, that she asked who the girl in Santana's uniform really was, and what she had done with the actual Santana.

Santana merely smiled at that, counting it as a victory when the Rachel in her head smiled along with her as they walked, and the conversation thankfully turned to other topics.

* * *

Rachel was nervous, and that was a feeling she'd rarely experienced since before going on stage for her first dance competition at the age of three. She had no idea what to expect when she got to school, knowing how curious her friends were about what had happened between her and Santana. There would be questions, comments, bewildered expressions and puzzled exclamations. She honestly had no idea how to respond to any of it. She felt as though the once-familiar terrain of the school had changed overnight, and she had no map with which to find her way through the newly rearranged landscape.

Kurt, Tina, Artie and Mercedes were waiting for her at her locker when she arrived; happily, she got through the entrance slushie-free, and took that as a good omen. She walked towards the quartet gathered in anticipation of her arrival with a genuine smile and a spring in her step.

Her smile quickly fell as she was bombarded with questions from all sides, each of them speaking at once, breathlessly, words falling on her head and at her feet like a verbal thunderstorm. Every time she opened her mouth to answer, another question sliced through the air like a ripple of lightning, and she felt overwhelmed. So much so that she didn't even bother to open her locker before turning to run into the nearest girls' bathroom, desperate to avoid embarrassing herself by hyperventilating in the face of her friends' onslaught. She knew they meant well. They were just concerned, knowing how changeable and violent Santana's moods could be, and they only wanted to protect her. She felt that they had gone more than a little overboard, coming at her all at once like that.

She closed her eyes and leaned back against the wall, wishing that she was as hard and cool as Santana, but she wasn't and could never be. She was the daughter of two doting, devoted, but extremely emotional fathers, and like them, when it all got to be a little too much, she would retreat and hide herself away to cry out her stress alone, away from others' prying eyes.

Then the bathroom door opened, and Rachel's eyes snapped open too. Her gaze met the one pair of eyes she actually wanted to see, which were narrowed with anger and as black as storm clouds. In the past, she would have backed away from that look in fear, but not now. Now it made her feel safe and protected.

"Santana."

She found her hands in the other girl's. They were shaking, trembling, and it was all she could do to keep herself standing upright. Santana's grip was strong but soothing; in moments, Rachel felt her stress flowing away from her their fingers entwined. The anger she had seen in the cheerleader's eyes was not directed towards her, she knew; it was for the others outside, the ones who had driven her in here with their inquisition. She watched it change into genuine concern as the cheerleader asked Rachel if she was all right. She answered Santana affirmatively with a small smile, which widened at the touch of a long, strong finger wiping the tears from her cheeks.

And then she felt the merest brush of Santana's lips on hers. She was too surprised to breathe, the air caught and held in her chest. Her eyes widened, then closed, her limbs weightless as she melted against the wall.

When she opened them again, Santana was gone.

* * *

There was no Glee meeting after school because Mr. Schuester had an emergency meeting with Principal Figgins and Coach Sylvester (no doubt over the cheerleading coach's latest insane conspiracy theory) so Rachel decided to practice alone in the auditorium. Just herself and the piano, as she had in the days before the New Directions had come into being. She'd considered going to speak with Ms. Pillsbury in an attempt to try to make sense of all these strange new feelings swirling around inside her, but then she'd abandoned the idea. Better to try and work out her feelings through music, as she had since childhood. Singing was her therapy; it had never failed her before, and she did not expect that it would now.

Blowing out a heavy sigh, she sat at the piano and ran her fingers along the keys aimlessly, just letting them wander. She did this for a few moments as her mind clicked through the playlists in her mental iPod, scrolling and scrolling in search of the perfect song to express how she was feeling in this moment. It seemed futile, though; she was feeling so many different things at once. Her emotions were churning around so rapidly that it made her a little dizzy.

Then she remembered the way Santana had looked at her in the bathroom that morning, the mixture of anger and concern in her eyes giving way to a tenderness and vulnerability she had previously only seen directed at Brittany, but somehow even more charged, even more intense – and the song was there.

It was a little dramatic, sure; but Rachel was nothing if not dramatic, after all. Her fingers arranged themselves over the proper keys, and she began to sing. As always, Rachel got lost in the song, her eyes tightly shut. Her voice filled the large room easily as her fingers moved on the keyboard. She knew that one day she would be singing in front of hundreds, even thousands of people, but right now, she wanted an audience of one, and that was the way she sang the song. Plaintively, earnestly, putting every single one of the myriad of emotions she was feeling into every word, every phrase, every syllable.

She would be surprised, if she only opened her eyes, to see that she actually had an audience of thirteen. Kurt, Mercedes, Artie and Tina were there, having come to apologize for the morning's ruthless grilling. Puck, Finn, Mike and Sam had merely followed the others, wondering where they were going. And Ms. Pillsbury and Mr. Schuester had followed _them,_ hoping to surprise the club with a late meeting after the Spanish teacher's meeting with Coach Sylvester and Principal Figgins had ended abruptly, with the Coach screaming at and nearly assaulting the principal's terrified new secretary...

...and Brittany, Santana and Quinn were the last to arrive. Quietly, they made their way down the aisle to the front row of seats, standing and gaping in awe at the power of Rachel's voice, at the waves of pure emotion radiating from her as she sang.

Brittany and Quinn took turns staring first at Rachel, and then in absolute shock at Santana, who was crying. Actually _crying_.

In the entire time that they had known her, from the time that they were very young, neither of them had ever seen Santana Lopez as much as sniffle. Not when she fell down and hurt herself. Not when her mother yelled at her for doing something wrong, or when Coach berated her over a less than stellar Cheerios practice. Not even when she was hit on and insulted by boys she had flipped off and rejected many times before.

Never.

Yet here she was, standing in front of the stage with large tears streaming down her beautiful face. Even more surprisingly, she made no attempt to hide them, not caring that there was a crowd of people filtering down the aisles to join them - all of whom could clearly see her trembling like a child as she watched Rachel sing as though her song had the power to save the world.

Well, not _the_ world.

Just _her_ world.


	4. Chapter 4

Santana had fled from the auditorium, too overwhelmed to stand there even a moment longer. Rachel's voice continued to echo in her mind even as her feet pounded down the hallways, out the door and onto the sidewalk. She ran all the way home as though she could somehow run away from everything, even herself.

She imagined Rachel's eyes on her, watching her as she ran. Those unbearably kind, knowing eyes, the ones that had seen and knew her, past the armor and the mask she wore every day to keep everybody else from knowing who she really was. She was comforted and yet tormented by what she had seen reflected in those eyes. Who was she, to deserve that kind of compassion, that level of understanding? She was just an angry bitch who was mean to everybody because she couldn't deal with her own damned self. That's what everybody thought, wasn't it? That was what she'd _wanted_ everybody to think.

But that wasn't what Rachel thought. No, she had seen the truth of things, and they both knew it. And now they could never go back to whatever they'd been before. In Rachel's eyes, Santana had seen possibilities that she'd never dared to imagine before. It felt liberating, but so, so dangerous; she'd never been so excited and so frightened at the same time. It was like being on a roller coaster that never stopped.

For her part, Rachel had come off stage bewildered at first. It was a shock to her, seeing Mr. Schuester, Ms. Pillsbury and the rest of the glee club applauding and whistling and hooting and hollering – all of them except Santana. Brittany and Quinn were there, though, standing at the front, and when she saw them sharing the same sad, confused looks, she began to realize what must have happened.

The space between the two cheerleaders told her everything she needed to know. Her insides twisted with hurt for the girl even as she put on her best 'show smile' for her friends and teachers, basking in their applause. Brittany told her that the song had made Santana cry, that in fact no one had ever seen Santana Lopez cry before today. Rachel took quiet offense to the way the others seemed unable to convince themselves that they had really seen what they'd seen, shaking their heads and speaking to each other in hushed tones about it. It was as though they didn't see Santana as having the same fears and worries as everybody else. Rachel knew that wasn't true; why couldn't they see Santana the way she did?

Rachel had intended for the song to soothe and comfort and encourage Santana, to let her know that it was okay for her to feel whatever she was feeling, and not to be afraid of it. To her dismay, however, it appeared that it had done just the opposite. Santana was a complex, multi-layered person, which was what Rachel found so irresistibly compelling about her. She was fascinated by the contrast between Santana's surface bravado, the tough-girl attitude, the refusal to apologize for who she was, and the fear and uncertainty that lay beneath all of that. Truth be told, she found it all quite relatable; she knew quite well what it was like to present one face to the world and another when you looked in the mirror. This only made Rachel even more determined to find a way into Santana's heart and fix what was broken.

She knew it probably wouldn't be easy. She knew Santana might give her the fight of her life. But she had to try.

* * *

When she finally got home, Santana flopped down onto her bed, groaning. She knew that Coach Sue would have her ass tomorrow for missing practice today, but she was too tired to care.

She stared at her phone, reading through the numerous text messages she'd received from Quinn and Brittany and all the others asking how she was, if she was okay, if she needed anything. It was nice to know that they cared, and she answered everyone with a simple _I'm fine, thanks for asking._

Then her phone chimed with a new message alert, and she saw at last the message from the one person from whom she wanted to hear the most.

Rachel.

She tapped the message and laughed in spite of herself when she saw how long the message was, in the perfect full sentences that read the same way the girl spoke. Others had said they found it annoying, but Santana loved it because she secretly loved words the same way Rachel did.

_I'm sorry if my song upset you. Yes, I was singing it for you. I didn't know if you'd be there to hear it, and I truly never expected to have any other audience. It was meant to provide you with some measure of comfort, wherever you were, not to make you feel badly in any way. It's just that I was thinking of you, and when I do, it makes me want to sing. I know you can understand that._

Santana's eyes filled with tears, the words on the screen suddenly a messy, blurred jumble. She wiped them away and wondered again how it was possible that Rachel knew just how deeply she felt things, when no one else in her life could even guess at it.

Sniffling, she typed out her reply. She hadn't intended to match Rachel word for word, but she found herself unable to keep herself from doing so.

_I didn't mean to run out of the auditorium the way I did. I had come there looking for you, and when I heard you singing, somehow I knew it was for me. To be honest, I really wanted to just get up on that stage and kiss you. I mean, nobody's ever done anything like that for me before. But I was so overwhelmed that I had to leave. I didn't know what else to do. I wish I hadn't, but well, you know. Stuff happens. Too late to do anything about it now.  
_

Rachel's eyes widened as she took in Santana's surprising words. Especially the part about wanting to kiss her. Like, really kiss her. She felt herself growing warm as she imagined Santana's lips on her own, and the thought made her squirm in her chair. If it was true that Rachel made Santana feel emotions she'd never experienced, well - it was also true that Santana made Rachel experience physical sensations she hadn't really ever felt before.

It was as if she were a flower that had never been taught how to bloom, spending its whole life sleeping in shadow - and suddenly, the sunlight was hitting _just_ the right places. She could feel her leaves uncurling and stretching towards the light, hungry to feel more, more, ever more.

_I say it's perfectly okay to feel whatever you're feeling. Believe me, I'm just as surprised by whatever seems to be happening between us as you are. I don't know what it is, or where it might lead, but I don't think it's wrong to want to find out.  
_

It was hard for Santana to believe that such kindness actually existed in the world, and yet here was the evidence, right on her screen. Rachel never judged, never spoke unkindly, in spite of every bad thing Santana had ever said or done to her. Now it was like none of those things had ever happened. Like it was easy for Rachel to offer her everything she'd ever secretly wanted, but never thought she was good enough to have.

_I know everybody else looks at me and thinks I've got all my shit together, but honestly, I don't even know what I'm doing most of the time. I'm just trying to hold myself together more than anything else. But yes, something's happening with you and me. I can't deny it. I can't even begin to explain it. I feel like you know me better than anybody else, even though we've never had a real conversation before now. I just...I just can't get over the way you looked at me in the hall the other day. It shook me. I need to know how you did it.  
_

_Then come to me. I'll tell you everything. Just don't be afraid – even though I am, a little, of what might happen when you do, because I don't know what will happen. I've planned everything in my life except for this. There's something inside me that you've woken up, and now I don't want it to go back to sleep ever again._

Rachel bit her lip after she tapped "send" and her words, her bold, bold words, showed up in the green bubble on her screen. If she wanted Santana to live honestly, then she couldn't be anything less than honest herself. But these were things she'd only just learned to say to herself out loud, and only here, in the safety of her own room. Could she be just as bold, just as fearless, with Santana right in front of her, as she'd been typing just now? She held her breath as she waited for Santana's reply.

_I've never said this to anybody before, but...I'm scared too. It's a good kind of scared, though. I feel like, all my life I've lived with fear, and I've been so mad at myself for so long for being afraid, but you make me feel like I can get through it. For the first time, I feel like I might be okay, like I might actually one day be free of everything that's been holding me back. I have no idea what it is you're doing to me, but please don't stop._

Santana was surprised at herself. Never before had she spoken so openly, so honestly about her emotions. It was freeing, but also terrifying. She knew that this meant she was giving Rachel Berry, of all people, the means to completely eviscerate her if she so chose. This was a level of trust she'd never allowed herself before, but somehow she knew that this thing between them couldn't ever grow without it. Rachel's reply suggested that the chance just might be more than worth taking.

_I won't stop if you won't._

Rachel closed her eyes. Images of raven black hair and caramel skin and red, red lips brushing against her own invaded her mind, and she gasped at the rush of heat that gathered right at the very center of her being. Leaves uncurling, reaching. Bright, bright sun. She drank in the light, reveled in its warmth, needed more. Then she typed out several more words, ones that could damn or save them both forever.

_My fathers are going away for the weekend._

The rest of the invitation didn't need to be written. Santana kept her response equally short and to the point, laughing to herself as she tapped on the screen.

_See you then, Berry._


	5. Chapter 5

No one but her fathers knew it, but Rachel had always possessed an impulsive streak, which was kind of at odds with her mania for planning and organization.

This impulsiveness usually manifested itself in the thrift stores where she would purchase the bizarre animal sweaters that, more often than not, ended up covered in slushy, and then got sadly tossed in the trash. She was helpless to explain why she liked them, exactly; in the moment, if she were asked, she would probably say that they were all kinds of cute. They were whimsical and playful, meant to express her love of animals. If she allowed herself to think about it more deeply, she would probably have to admit they also expressed a desire to be seen as harmless, non-threatening, a kind of plea for mercy to the bullies the plagued the halls of McKinley. Prior to high school, Rachel had honestly never thought these admittedly silly articles of clothing could possibly attract anything other than positive attention, but after being on the receiving end of one slushy attack after another, it became all too clear to her that she was wrong. But she kept wearing them anyway, mostly because they were inexpensive and easily replaced. Goodness knew she'd feel a lot worse about throwing out practically new clothing on a regular basis if it cost as much as, say, one of Kurt's sweaters, or one of Quinn's sundresses.

And now, out of nowhere, that impulsive streak had manifested again, in the form of the extraordinarily bold invitation she'd extended to Santana to spend a weekend alone in her house, without her dads around. She hadn't thought about it for more than a second, really; she just knew that she wanted to spend some time with the girl who had become the focus of nearly all her non-school, non-Glee related thoughts. She wanted to see how different Santana could be away from the pressurized halls of McKinley, where she was always so on guard, so tense and armored up, even if only for a weekend.

As Rachel lay in her bed, unable to even think about sleep, she thought about what this could mean for her. She wouldn't, _couldn't_ deny that she was hoping that Santana would want to kiss her again. It seemed strange to her that she was thinking so much about _that_ , when previously, she had hardly ever spared a thought for things like sex, dating and relationships. Being raised by two gay fathers, she was more aware than most about the difficulties faced by those who deviated from the norm in this small, kind of backwards town, and she knew that it would be thought of as perhaps the ultimate cliche by the more small-minded inhabitants of Lima if it turned out that she too was gay.

Then again, as she thought about it some more, she realized that she'd never thought about boys, or even looked at them, the way other girls did. She had no trouble acknowledging that the boys she knew in Glee were handsome, or cute, or whatever; but it didn't mean anything to her. She could look at a famous male celebrity and say, yes, he was good-looking, but she felt nothing at all when she said it. It was just a fact, like the weather, or gravity, and she was as dispassionate in discussing it as she would be if any of those things were the actual topic of conversation.

Of course, none of the boys at McKinley had ever looked at her with any kind of interest at all. The great majority of them were at best spectacularly indifferent to her existence, and those few who weren't tended to find her in the hallways and push her into lockers or make her drop her books. That is, when they weren't throwing their icy drinks in her face or pouring them over her head. The one unfortunate exception was Jacob Ben Israel, the disgusting blogger whose leering, hungry gaze never failed to make her shiver with revulsion- but he looked at pretty much every other girl the same way anyway. And while the guys in Glee were mercifully different, in the sense that they never did any of those things to her, and she was certainly grateful that they did what they could to protect her, not one of them ever told her she was pretty or even mildly attractive _._ Sure, they told her that her _voice_ was beautiful, practically every time she sang, and she thought they even meant it; but she was quite aware that none of them saw her as anything other than the club's leader and its most powerful voice.

Truthfully, Rachel was fine with that.

She had told herself innumerable times that she was simply too focused on her future, on her career, her destined life in New York, to think about all the things with which others her age seemed to be obsessed. She knew this was yet another thing that set her apart from everybody else. They were always going on about sex and dating as though nothing else existed in the world; but for her, such things were simply irrelevant, pointless distractions. She had more important goals to achieve than dates at the Lima Bean and awkward fumblings in the back seat of someone's parents' car. No, her life was defined by a single-minded pursuit of the future she'd envisioned for herself since the age of three. She had always believed that if she wanted to be a star, she couldn't allow anything to divert her gaze from that not so far away day when she would see her name in lights on Broadway, spelled out in letters that were so large and bright they could be seen even here in Lima.

But Santana had set her aflame with the briefest of touches, the merest of glances, the swiftest brush of her lips. She had awakened something inside Rachel, something that had been hidden even from herself. Now she had to figure out what it meant, this new desire in her, this sudden longing that was as strong as her craving for stardom. She felt it pulsing beneath her skin as though a second, shadow self lived within her, fused with her flesh, inhabiting her very bones.

It was this shadow self that whispered in her throat and caused her to exhale a name like it was a holy thing, like a desperate plea for light in the still, silent darkness of her room. This other self that imposed its will upon her, moving her hands and fingers in a waking dream to places on her body that she had never before considered as anything other than markers of difference between her and the opposite sex. _Santana_ , it said, as it flooded her mind with images of that impossibly beautiful face, wearing that _look,_ that expression of promise and challenge and _knowing -_ the one that made her feel dizzy and weightless, like a flame spiraling in air.

But afterwards, as she listened to her own heavy breathing, spent and exhausted, Rachel knew she didn't want the weekend to be just about _that._ She wanted to talk with Santana, really _talk_ to her. She wanted to look into Santana's eyes and watch her lips as words spilled from them, to see that those words were real and not just pixels on a screen. She needed to know that all of this was _real_ and not some delusion, a pleasurable but ultimately fleeting fantasy.

Most of all, she needed to know if Santana's feelings for her were as real as her sudden, fierce desire for Santana was. She hoped with all her might that the fire that had been kindled inside her would not consume her, that she would emerge from it whole and unscathed, with all her dreams for the future left intact.

What, indeed, might happen, if these new fantasies were to collide with those dreams? Truthfully, Rachel had no idea - but she was about to take the first step on the path to finding out.

* * *

It had taken Santana all of thirty seconds to respond to Rachel's not at all subtle invitation, which actually surprised her. She wasn't at all sure that she could trust herself to be alone with Rachel for an entire weekend without saying or doing something that would hurt or upset the girl, which was the absolute last thing she wanted to happen.

The thought made her scrunch her eyes tightly shut to keep them from filling with tears. No – that was just _not_ going to happen. No way.

She had the sense that this could be one of those turning points, one of those crucial moments in time that would forever be marked with a giant gold star on the map of their lives. She wasn't about to do anything to mess it up. She had an urgent need to sit face to face with Rachel and talk about whatever the hell it was that was happening between them. Maybe then Rachel would explain the seemingly magical power she had acquired to see directly into and through her, to really _see_ her, in a way that no one ever had before.

Because it was _impossible_. She had designed the mask and armor she wore to be impenetrable. She had built a persona for herself that she'd thought would guarantee no one would ever be able to get closer to her than she wanted them to. What Rachel had done was impossible. Hell, Rachel _herself_ was impossible. The very existence of someone as good and kind and compassionate as Rachel was a rarity, like water in the desert, or light in a deep mountain cavern. The world simply did not produce people with hearts as wide open as Rachel Berry's.

No, the world she knew produced people with closed minds and hard judgments about what was _moral_ and _acceptable_ and oh so very _proper._ People who believed that people like her and Kurt and Rachel's fathers - and maybe Rachel too? – shouldn't even _exist_ , that they should simply _disappear_. That they should exit out of reality through some kind of cosmic door, never to be seen or heard from again.

People like her _abuela._

Those people scared her. And being afraid made her angry. This was the cycle of emotions that defined Santana's interior life: fear and anger, pain and sadness.

It was unending, and exhausting, and it put her constantly on her guard. She was proud of who she was, yet she couldn't escape the dread that followed her like a waking nightmare - the constant terror that someone, somewhere, was whispering about her, plotting to take her down. They were going to slam her into lockers, knock her books out of her hands, trip her so she fell on her face, pointing and laughing at her all the while. Or worse -

Or worse, they would find that door in the middle of existence, somehow. That eternal closet of nothingness from which she could never escape. They would shove her into it, and then they would lock the door behind her and throw away the key.

They would do it without hesitation, without compunction, without even blinking. With no shame, no guilt, no remorse. They would do it before she ever got a chance to love, to be loved, to know what it was like to feel that way about someone and have that feeling returned.

But she would always, _always_ know what it was like to be _hated_ , to be scorned because she was different. She would know it to her marrow, to the smallest, most infinitesimal fiber of her being, and feel the chill in her soul forever.

Because her _abuela_ had taught her the lesson, and she had learned it far too well, that even love is not beyond betrayal. She had loved the old woman more than anything in the world, and what had she gotten for it? A knife to the heart that had left a wound so deep she believed it would never heal.

It was a wound she could never allow anyone to see, because that would just make it hurt even worse. And so, apart from Quinn and Brittany, she had resolved not to let others in, to get close, for fear that one day it would all be exposed and she would be seen for who she really was. That everyone would finally see behind all her masks and walls that Santana Lopez was just another girl - heartbroken, scared and alone.

So she had made a simple vow: if she wasn't going to be loved or even respected, then by God she was going to be feared. She was going to push people around, and she was going to push them _hard,_ so hard they'd never dare to even _think_ of pushing back. She was going to live in her armor, barricaded behind the walls of the fortress she had built around herself, and no one would ever, _ever_ see the truth of Santana Lopez.

And then Rachel Berry, of all people, had seen through everything, despite the elaborate construction she had so diligently put in place around herself, had torn through it as if it were made of toothpicks and tissue paper. In that single moment when their eyes had met and Santana had been undone, it had all fallen apart and crumbled into dust, to be blown away by the fresh air of something she had never imagined: the possibility of happiness.

* * *

On the Saturday morning they were scheduled to leave for their well-deserved weekend getaway, Hiram and Leroy Berry found themselves vacillating between amusement and genuine concern for their daughter's mental well-being. They had never seen Rachel in such an agitated state. She had been cleaning, straightening, dusting and _arranging_ things everywhere for hours, starting well before either of them had woken up, barely taking a moment to eat or rest. The frenetic energy with which she worked was unusual even for her, making her parents' meticulous packing rituals seem positively casual by comparison.

Rachel had told her fathers that Santana was coming to stay with her for the weekend so she wouldn't be alone in the house. The blush that colored her face when she described the other girl as "just a friend" made Leroy raise his eyebrows and Hiram chuckle behind his hand. They had never seen their child behave in such a shy manner before, and while it made them sad to realize that she hadn't ever really had a friend to invite over before, they couldn't help but smile at her determination to make the place look absolutely _perfect_ before Santana arrived.

When Rachel confessed that she had rearranged the DVD cabinets three times because she couldn't decide whether to organize them alphabetically, by genre, or by year of release, her fathers gently but firmly put their collective feet down and made her sit and take a breather.

(It was really far too early to deal with a highly anxious teenager on top of trying to load up the car and program the GPS.)

After her forced - and much-needed, she had to admit - breakfast, Rachel was much calmer, and she reassured them that she and Santana would be just fine by themselves. She promised that they would call Santana's parents if there was any problem and that she would keep the doors and windows locked at all times as she shooed them out the door, admonishing them to have a good time and not worry about her.

She watched and waved from the large living room window as her fathers left. Hiram blew her a kiss, and Rachel pretended to catch and clutch it to her heart while Leroy good-naturedly rolled his eyes at his husband and their sweet, silly and altogether adorable daughter.

After the car disappeared from view, Rachel felt her anticipation for Santana's arrival grow and intensify once again. They had agreed that Santana would show up at around noon, and it was still only just past eight o'clock. She hadn't taken a shower after getting up at five, choosing instead to go on her manic cleaning and tidying spree, so she decided that this was the perfect time to freshen up.

Her body was still humming with energy, and her brain was in overdrive. There was so much she wanted to do, so much she wanted to say, and she didn't know which she wanted more - the doing or the talking. She wanted _everything_ , wanted it so much it made her limbs ache as she stripped out of the simple T-shirt and yoga pants she'd been wearing so that she could let the hot water of the shower loosen her tense and tired muscles.

As the water pelted against her skin, the steam rising around her, Rachel found herself engaged in an internal debate. Should she kiss Santana first - or should she let Santana, who was obviously much more experienced, make the first move? She shook her head. _No, no, no!_ They needed to talk before anything else could happen. She couldn't let her physical desires blind her to what was most important.

And yet, as she turned off the water and then wrapped herself in a large, fluffy towel, she couldn't stop thinking about Santana's lips. They were so full, so inviting, so tantalizing...Rachel was positive that they must be the softest, most perfect pair of lips in the world, maybe even in all of recorded history. She longed to let herself melt into them while her fingers tangled themselves in Santana's beautiful, raven-dark hair...and then...and then - No! If any of _that_ was going to happen, it should only take place _after_ their relationship was clearly defined, and a course charted for how they would negotiate the rocky terrain of William McKinley High School as a couple.

 _A couple!_ The mere thought made her want to squeal with delight. She could not have even imagined such a thing before now, but somehow it had very quickly become something she desired very nearly as much as a career on Broadway - or at the very least, a **Playbill** from _Funny Girl_ signed by Barbra herself.

Her brain, her heart and her body were all at war, and she had no idea which one would win. Nor did she know what her secret self, the stranger lurking just beneath her skin, would do when it was confronted by the nearness of Santana, by her irresistible allure.

All she knew was that it was going to take every ounce of strength she had to keep from exploding when Santana finally walked through her door.


	6. Chapter 6

As the clock ticked down and the time at which Santana was expected to arrive drew ever closer, Rachel grew more and more nervous. This was a strange and unfamiliar feeling for her. As everyone knew, she had pretty much grown up on the stage, performing in front of audiences since she was little. No matter how large or small the audience, or how important the performance, Rachel simply _did not_ get nervous. She prided herself on being calm, cool, collected and confident to the core in all but the most extreme circumstances. It took a lot to shake her composure, but in those rare times when it was in fact shaken, as it was now...well, that was not a feeling she enjoyed.

Yet somehow, at this moment, with the hands on the clock moving far too slowly and her own hands restlessly fidgeting in her lap, she found that she kind of, sort of, maybe liked the way she felt. It was as though a tiny hummingbird had taken up residence inside her, flitting back and forth between her chest and her stomach. She could hear the buzz of its wings in her pulse, feel the ever so slight tremor of their rapid movement in her limbs.

She knew that Santana was on her way, having received a short text from her advising that she would be arriving soon. Rachel closed her eyes and held herself tight, as though she was trying to keep from flying right off her living room couch. She felt as if she could hover gracefully in the air like the hummingbird caged inside her, as though gravity didn't exist. Images of full, red lips and caramel-hued skin filled her mind, and she shivered, not knowing exactly what this weekend would bring, but hoping, hoping, _hoping._

The hummingbird in her chest sang its silent song, and her body vibrated in time with it.

Suddenly, as if time had sped up without her knowing it, the doorbell rang. This was happening. This was _real._

Rachel bounced up from the couch, excited. She took a quick look behind her at the arrangement of snacks and drinks she had laid out on the kitchen table, then glanced down at her clothing. Frowning, she smoothed down invisible wrinkles in her blouse, then put on a smile and crossed the floor in a few short steps to where her front door waited like an omen.

With the release of a breath she felt she'd been holding her entire life, Rachel walked to the door to let Santana – and the change she didn't even know she'd needed – into her house.

* * *

It would have been very easy for Santana to drive rather than walk over to Rachel's house, but that would have taken less time and more of her attention than she felt acceptable before this meeting. She needed to think as much as possible, to try and consider what she was doing and why. It was as though some giant invisible hand was pushing her along, guiding her sneakered feet along the sidewalks and beside the quiet, sleepy Saturday morning lawns of Lima. All her life, the future had seemed hazy and unclear, a nebulous thing shrouded in mystery. But now, for the first time, she felt herself moving towards a destiny that was slowly but surely coming into focus. It was as unnerving as it was exhilarating, and Santana couldn't quite wrap her mind around it.

For some reason, this moment felt important. It felt big. Momentous. Like standing at a crossroads, where she could choose a new, but unknown direction for her life, or she could keep going as she was, and wonder forever about what could have been. The moment their eyes had met and Rachel had _seen_ her, something had begun, something wild and undefinable, something almost magical. Something that had already changed them both, and would continue changing them in ways they couldn't even imagine yet.

What Santana wanted to know was _why._ That was a larger question, even, than _how._ She reasoned that Rachel could have fixed her sorcerous gaze on anyone, delved into Quinn's own dark secrets or Tina's worlds of fiction and fantasy or even decoded Brittany's cryptic musings on dolphins and unicorns, but no – Rachel had focused those intense, deep brown eyes on her, and changed everything in less time than it took Santana to breathe.

She knew that her own gaze had caught Rachel too, though. She had seen Rachel's uncertainty about who she was herself, or what she felt she was allowed to be. Everyone could see the future Broadway star, the young ingenue with talent and intelligence beyond her years; but there was another Rachel, one that no one but Santana had ever seen. A girl who was uncertain about and uncomfortable in her own body. A girl who wanted to be touched, who desired intimacy and tenderness, who wanted so badly to be wanted herself, but had virtually no idea how to express those desires. People saw Rachel as virtually sexless, despite that memorable time in Celibacy Club when she had told Quinn the 'dirty truth' about girls and sex - but the deeper truth that Santana had seen was just how much Rachel wanted it but couldn't admit it to herself.

Santana found this revelation absolutely delicious. Honestly, she had never imagined that there was anything she could possibly teach Rachel Berry. The thought of just how much, in fact, she could teach McKinley High's resident superstar - and how much she would enjoy every moment of it - made Santana's lips curl into a wicked smile.

Unbeknownst to either of them, there were many lessons for them both to learn. Things about themselves, and about each other, that would stay with them for the rest of their lives. Seeds had been sown. Roots were already intertwining beneath the surface. Leaves were uncurling, petals unfurling, opening themselves to wind and rain and bright, bright sun.

Before she knew it, Santana found herself standing in front of the large but modest Berry home. It was elegant and classy without being gaudy and ostentatious, like the mansion where Quinn lived. Santana could tell, even from the outside, that this was a home in which love was alive and thriving, given freely and unconditionally. No one in this house ever wondered for a moment if they were loved. No one ever had to pretend here. No one had wear a mask, live in armor, just to survive.

_Abuela._

The music of Rachel's doorbell sounded like a promise. Santana couldn't help but feel that the moment she stepped through that portal, she would be taking her first step into a new world. And truthfully, she wasn't going to miss the one she was leaving behind.

* * *

When the door opens, they spend a good thirty seconds just staring at each other.

Rachel is not the least bit subtle in letting her eyes rake up and down Santana's form, taking in the way the cheerleader's black skinny jeans and tight red top accentuate her athletic curves in the most extraordinarily enticing way.

It was no wonder every guy in school – and more than a few of the girls too – wanted her. She was a _femme fatale,_ the kind of girl who could kill with her eyes and her smile, who could make you love it even as life and strength drained from you, as long as your last sight was that perfect she-devil smirk.

Santana might have laughed at Rachel's none too subtle stare, if not for the fact that she's staring right back at her. How could such a short girl have such long, perfect legs? And how the hell was it even legal to sell skirts that short?

Not that she's complaining, of course. It's incomprehensible to Santana that Rachel seems to have no idea just how attractive she really is, with all that long, beautiful hair and those impossibly deep brown eyes and that ridiculous mega-watt smile. And the shy, almost demure way she says Santana's name when she asks her to come in and make herself comfortable.

It's almost enough to make Santana's knees go weak. And her knees _never_ go weak, not ever. Not for anyone.

Anyone except Rachel.

"I can't believe you're here," Rachel says, and it's like she's reading Santana's mind. She can't believe it either. It's been all they've been able to think about since the invitation was extended and accepted. Now the moment has finally arrived, and it's weird and not weird at all at the same time. A strange comfort settles between them, as though this isn't the first time that one of them has been inside the other's house, like they've done this dance a million times before.

Rachel smiles to mask her nervousness, trying to will the hummingbird in her chest to settle down just a little bit and let her think, but Santana is so beautiful up close that she's having trouble forming words. She wants to be her usual articulate self, but it's like her brain and her tongue are mad at each other and refusing to communicate.

"Thanks for inviting me, short stack," she says, smiling to let Rachel know that she means no offense, that the nickname is a term of endearment and not another demeaning swipe.

Rachel nods and smiles back. She's not insulted; she thinks that one is kind of cute, actually.

Looking around the living room, with its large, comfortable couch and giant flat-screen TV and the gorgeous baby grand piano that seems to take up half the space, Santana notices the many pictures of Rachel that seem to be everywhere: on the shelves, on the walls, on the end tables, and yes, on the piano. It's like a scrapbook whose pages have been scattered and found homes outside the covers.

There's three-year-old Rachel, all fluffy black hair and princess dress, laughing next to her first dance trophy. There's five-year-old Rachel in a sweater with a pair of cats on it, along with a plaid skirt and knee socks, holding another first place trophy, this one for a singing competition. And so on, and so on. Smiles and trophies and awards, for singing, for dancing, for acting, for academics.

And somewhere along the way, a lonely look that settles in her face, in her deep, expressive eyes. She's seen that look before, too. It had been there in that moment, in the hallway.

Santana knows that Rachel's fathers have been to every contest, every awards ceremony, celebrated every victory with their amazingly beautiful, wildly talented daughter. She also knows that there hadn't been any friends at those contests, those ceremonies. That there might never have been any, if the Glee Club hadn't come along to bring together a group of kids who initially shared nothing but a love of music and performing.

Rachel watches Santana from the kitchen. She watches as she looks at the pictures, sees how Santana's smile falls as shot after shot, portrait after portrait, reveals the price that Rachel's paid for her success as a performer. A price paid in friendless birthday parties and sleepover-free weekends, in countless hours spent talking and singing to an unblinking camera instead of an actual human being, documenting the evidence of a childhood, and now part of an adolescence, spent in the single-minded pursuit of a lofty, nearly impossible goal.

What the pictures don't show, can never show, is the cruelty and ignorance of peers who don't understand what it means to have the kind of gift that Rachel possesses. The taunts and the whispers and the insults. The sadness and the humiliation and the thousand small torments that make up a day, a week, a month, a year in the life of an incredibly talented but socially awkward high school girl, a young woman who wears her emotions on her sleeve because she's never learned how to hide them.

Tears well up in Santana's eyes. She knows that some of this is her fault too. After all, she had ignored Rachel's pain, and even been responsible for some of it, hadn't she? She'd seen the shoves, the trips and the slushies to the face. She had heard the name-calling and read and even written some of the brutal comments beneath the videos Rachel had posted on various social media.

For her part, Rachel's not angry about any of it. She's made her choices and accepts the price she's had to pay for them. She's not angry, because she knows that Santana doesn't feel sorry for her. She knows that Santana doesn't pity her.

She _understands_ her.

After all, Santana's dealt with her own kind of loneliness: the loneliness of superficial relationships and fake popularity, of having to live up to everyone else's expectations but your own. The kind of loneliness that comes from being on top of the pyramid, not being able to trust that someone wants to be your friend simply because they like you, and not because they want something from you, or because they want to get close to you just so they can take you down later.

The loneliness of wanting to love and be loved, while being scared of what people will say about you just because the love you need isn't the one that everyone accepts or endorses.

Rachel watches and sees all of this, sees it so clearly that she wonders how it is no one else does. She walks into the living room, the snacks and drinks forgotten where she'd left them on the kitchen counter, and touches Santana on the shoulder. The other girl jumps in surprise, wipes away the tears she didn't want Rachel to see, but _of course_ she sees them, because Rachel seems to miss nothing.

"Why don't we sit down and talk?" she asks, gesturing to the couch behind them. "I think there's a lot we maybe need to tell each other."

And though Santana's never been much for talking, she lets Rachel lead her to the couch, because, she thinks, you need to start somewhere, and this feels like a good place to start.


	7. Chapter 7

Santana hastily wiped her tears away. Yes, there was a lot to talk about. But Santana had never been able to find the right words in situations like this. She could always find the perfect words to use whenever she needed to insult or humiliate or intimidate, or simply push away, anyone who got her angry or tried to get a little too close. It was unusual for her to want so much to find words to comfort, to soothe, to draw someone closer. Now Santana found herself searching for them as Rachel sat herself down on the couch and patted the space next to her, beckoning her to sit as well.

Rachel smiled as Santana lowered herself down onto the couch. It was a soft, shy smile, not the huge _I see you there in the back row of the auditorium_ smile that the Glee Club was so used to seeing. It was a smile she'd never seen on the girl's face before, and Santana couldn't help but feel that Rachel had held this one in reserve just for her. It was warm and reassuring, and she was completely captivated by it. Any vestige of hesitance or reservation that might have existed somewhere in her body vanished at the sight of that soft, secret smile.

Santana suddenly felt as though there was nothing in the world she wanted more than to see that smile again and again.

Now they were face to face, and Santana's breath hitched at the realization of just how beautiful Rachel was, up close. Her olive skin and deep brown eyes sparkled with the light coming in through the living room window. Santana found herself caught and held by the other girl's knowing gaze once again, but this time she didn't flinch or look away. She let Rachel look her full in the face, and allowed her own gaze to wander down to the songbird's full, plump lips, glistening with recently applied gloss. How had she not realized before how tempting, how tantalizing those lips were? She was seized with a sudden desire to kiss them, to capture them with her own, but then she heard Rachel clear her throat, jolting her back to reality. She knew from past experience - thanks to many, many Glee Club speeches - that this meant Rachel was about to speak, so she forced herself, reluctantly, to back away.

"First of all, I want to thank you for coming over today. This entire week has felt like a dream to me, and I would have been terribly sad if I had woken up to find that you weren't going to be here after all. I feel that something – I haven't been able to define what it is yet, exactly – but _something_ is happening between us, Santana. I feel it strongly. I want – I _need_ to know if you feel it too, or if you feel something different, but whatever the case, I have to know if this is real, or if I'm just deluding myself into believing that someone like you could possibly have any kind of interest in me. I...I can't be making all this up in my head, can I?"

Rachel paused, wringing her hands. She knew she was rambling. She always did when she was anxious, overcome with want. That was always her problem, wasn't it? She wanted things too much. Good grades on tests, solos in Glee Club, a future on Broadway – and now Santana. But what was it, really, that she wanted with her? Did she know? Was it just her newly discovered desire for physical intimacy, or was it something more? And could she possibly explain it to herself, let alone the girl sitting here beside her?

Santana kept herself from laughing at the poor girl's anxiety. How could Rachel not know by now that Santana Lopez was never anywhere she didn't want to be? And how could she not know that there was nowhere she would rather be than right here, right now, because she needed answers too?

With that thought in mind, Santana slowly reached a hand out to place an index finger over Rachel's lips, stilling them before she could say anything more. Then she gently caressed Rachel's cheek. She felt the girl calm at the touch, saw the tension leave her shoulders, as though an invisible weight had been lifted from them. The smaller girl leaned into the touch, drawing a small, indulgent smile from the cheerleader.

"Relax, Rachel. Okay? Just relax. I'm here, and I _want_ to be here - and you're definitely _not_ making up anything in your head, all right? I told you before, when we texted on the phone – you make me feel things I've never felt before, things I don't understand. I don't even know how you do it, but...you _do._ And that's why I'm here today. Because we need to explore this...whatever this is. I have to warn you, though; I'm not really good at all at expressing my feelings with words. Well, that's not exactly true. I can cut a bitch with vicious, vicious words anytime, but feelings like this? The way I feel when I look at you, when I hear you sing, when you smile at me? It's...I'm not exactly used to it, talking about good things. Happy things. It's kind of unfamiliar territory for me."

"I'm not exactly the poster girl for high school happiness myself, to be honest. I put up a good front, but truthfully..." She drew a deep breath, then let it out in a long, slow exhale. "Until the Glee Club came along, making friends...that was always hard for me. I've tried to act as though it never bothered me, like I was above it all. I tried to tell myself, over and over again, that I didn't need anyone, that my talent was all I needed. I never realized just how wrong I was until I saw my own need reflected in you."

Rachel was right, of course. Santana could open her heart to Rachel, allow herself to be vulnerable in a way she had never dared to do with anyone before, because she knew that Rachel would never judge or condemn her for it. She knew that Rachel understood that need better than anyone else could. Quinn and Brittany had always had other friends in whom they could confide, and now Brittany had grown close to Mike and Artie, while Quinn was developing an unexpected bond with Mercedes.

Santana had never really done the close friend thing, even though she called the two blonde cheerleaders her best friends. She had never truly opened up to them, never shown them the secret places in her heart, the way best friends are supposed to do. In all honesty, she had come to believe that she simply wasn't capable of being that vulnerable, that she had armored herself so thoroughly that it could never come off completely.

Seeing Rachel staring at her, waiting for a response, Santana shook herself out of her own head and considered what Rachel had said before responding.

"I get that," she began, carefully formulating her reply in her mind. "But I think maybe you let the 'future star' thing go a little too far, lost your own real personality beneath all that. I kinda did that, too, with the 'head bitch in charge' thing. People think that the tough, angry person they know is the real me. But the truth is that it's only _part_ of me. They just don't bother trying to get past it to see what else is under there."

"Oh, Santana. There's so much more to you than that," Rachel sighed, taking Santana's hand in her own. "It's what I saw that first time we really looked at each other. It's what made me realize I needed to get to know you. Somehow, I just knew that you needed someone in your life who was willing to look beneath the surface to see who you really are, inside. And I _like_ who you are – at least, what you've let me see of you, the _real_ you, so far."

"And I like you too, beneath those god-awful sweaters you insist on wearing," Santana teased. Rachel pouted, and Santana chuckled as she continued, "Oh, come on, don't look at me like that. Listen, you have _got_ to come shopping with me sometime, because I swear if you don't, I _will_ come in here when you're out at one of your dance lessons or vocal sessions or whatever the hell else you do when you're not at school, and I _will_ take each and every one of those sweaters far, far out into the woods, and I will _burn_ them."

"You wouldn't dare!" Rachel gasped, putting on a look of mock horror, her wide eyes somehow widening even further. Her laughter was rich and intoxicating, and completely infectious.

Still, Santana tried to keep herself from laughing as she retorted, "Oh, yes I would, short stack. You can't keep hiding beneath that stuff anymore. If I'm going to show you who I really am, you're going to do the same. And besides, I'm Santana Lopez. I will dare _anything_ , so don't test me."

Rachel's eyes narrowed, and suddenly it seemed as though the light in the room had dimmed, drawn into the darkness of her expression. The look she gave Santana was shocking in its intensity, and it froze the cheerleader in place, rendering her helpless.

"Anything, huh?" she said, her voice low and husky, and Rachel knew it was the voice of her other self speaking through her now, moving her body closer to Santana's, causing her to wrap her arms around the other girl's neck and bring their faces close together. So, _so_ close together.

Santana shivered at the way Rachel sounded now. She wondered where _this_ Rachel had come from, where she had found this voice. It was so compelling, so different from the one she was used to hearing. She wanted to ask Rachel what had gotten into her, what she thought she was doing - but she was Santana Lopez, so of course, instead of asking her either of those questions, she answered in her most defiant, confident tone:

"Anything at all."

Then she tilted her head and brought her lips to Rachel's, softly and sweetly. Santana instantly became lost in the taste of – _what else? -_ berry flavored lip gloss. She felt Rachel trembling in her arms as the girl's mouth opened and a soft moan escaped, giving Santana the access she craved. Instinct took over, and her body responded more forcefully than it ever had before. The rush of excitement was incredible, and Santana felt herself getting lost in it.

Fingers threaded through long, dark locks. Skin warmed, slickened with perspiration. It was so warm in the room. When had the sun gotten so close? And when was Rachel going to need to take a breath? God, she wasn't kidding when she was telling everyone in Glee Club about her amazing breath control and that was how she could hold all those notes forever. Apparently it was useful for more than singing show tunes.

Finally, as if in answer to Santana's thoughts, Rachel broke away. Santana gasped, not even realizing until that moment how badly she needed oxygen, taking great gulps of air. She'd kissed a lot of girls, but no one had ever kissed her back like _that._ She felt Rachel's need like a living thing, and felt her body responding, desire rising to meet that desperate, nearly all-consuming need.

Rachel's eyes were dark, her mouth open and inviting and hungry. Her hair was beautifully tousled, her skin glowing with a fine sheen of sweat. She was glorious, Santana thought, like a tiny, dark bird of prey, hunting, circling her. All she wanted to do was kiss her again and again.

And then Rachel's mouth was on hers once more, and all else was forgotten. There was only here and now, and the language of words was discarded in favor of a more direct form of communication.


	8. Chapter 8

Rachel could not imagine a better way to spend a Saturday afternoon than kissing Santana. The cheerleader's lips were an addictive drug, and once given a taste, Rachel was completely hooked. They were delicious, so warm and soft and capable of causing her body to react in a thousand different ways. When Santana kissed her softly, Rachel's breath came in soft pants and tiny moans; when she increased the pressure or nipped at her bottom lip, and when she introduced her tongue to the inside of Rachel's mouth, her moans became louder and more frequent. Her breath and her heartbeat quickened, and all her muscles twitched and shook and she just couldn't get Santana close enough to her, digging her fingernails into Santana's neck, her shoulders, her back, anywhere she could reach. It was as if she needed to merge herself and Santana into one entity, or to transform herself into quicksilver and slip through Santana's pores, into her very skin.

Santana was on top of her, holding her, and Rachel circled her arms around the girl's upper body, ran her hands up and down her arms and shoulders, marveling at the hard curves of muscle she found there. When her fingers clutched at Santana's shirt, the second self inside Rachel demanded that she pull the garment up and over the girl's head, craving the feel of smooth, silky skin beneath her fingers. It amazed and infuriated her that she had never known until now how amazing it actually felt to be this close to another person. How had she denied herself this feeling all this time? It seemed unfathomable to her now.

Santana pulled away, gasping. Never had she imagined that Rachel would be so aggressive, so forward. It was as though a dam had burst, and every bit of repressed, pent-up desire that lived within her was rushing out in a torrent.

She couldn't help but smile with pride as she looked down at Rachel's flushed, heated face, her mussed hair and swollen lips. _She_ had made Rachel this way. _She_ had done this. _She_ had awakened something inside the diminutive girl that was too large for her tiny frame to contain - something that could never be contained again now that it had been set free.

"Someone's eager," Santana said, grinning. Rachel was still writhing and trembling beneath her, gazing intently at her lips with something that could only be described as hunger.

"Santana. _Please._ I'm so – I need to – I -" Rachel stammered in reply, not caring that she had been reduced to monosyllables.

"Relax, tiny. You don't want to wear yourself out too quickly. I'm here all weekend. We have plenty of time."

" _No."_ Rachel pouted. "I want...need more. Don't want to stop now." She reached up, wanting to grab at Santana's shirt again. " _Please._ "

" _Rachel_. Listen. Not that I haven't enjoyed the hell out of it myself, because I have, but - we've been at this all afternoon, and we haven't eaten anything. I don't know about you, but I need to get my eat on if I'm going to have enough energy to keep this up for the rest of the weekend."

Sighing, Rachel pushed herself up on her elbows to rest her upper body against the arm of the couch. She knew Santana was right, but her entire body still felt like a live wire with a million volts of current still running through each and every nerve. Her stomach was tight with a hunger of an entirely different type than the one Santana was describing.

Seeing Rachel's sad expression, Santana leaned down and surprised her with a peck on the lips before rising from the couch and extending her hands for Rachel to take.

"Hey. I'm not going anywhere. We have all the time in the world for this, and..." She paused, stunned to realize that for maybe the first time ever, she actually wanted to discuss her feelings. "And I want...I want to _talk_ some more, too."

Rachel couldn't help but smile at the admission as she let Santana pull her up and off the couch. By the look of discomfort on Santana's face, it had not been an easy one for her to make.

"Wow – usually _I'm_ the chatty one. Talk about a role reversal," Rachel teased, hoping to relieve Santana's tension before it could darken her mood.

Santana's eyes narrowed, and Rachel worried that she might have said the wrong thing. Her mind raced to formulate a hasty apology, and then something amazing happened. The corners of Santana's mouth quirked up, and she let out a loud, hearty laugh, to Rachel's surprise and relief. Soon Rachel was doubled over with laughter herself, and the room was filled with the music of their shared mirth.

Santana straightened up after a few moments, trying to calm herself as Rachel's laughter subsided to a bubbly giggle.

"Damn, girl. Who knew you were actually...y'know... _funny,"_ the cheerleader said. "Seriously, that was good."

Rachel beamed, happy that her joke had lightened the mood, just as she'd hoped. Her own tension had lessened somewhat as well, but she was anxious to get through the meal and the conversation. The sooner that was done, the sooner they could get back to the kissing and the touching...

 _Stop that! You don't want Santana to think you're some kind of sex-crazed beast,_ she chided herself. But as she gazed at the beautiful girl in front of her, she had to admit to herself: _But you kind of_ _ **are**_ _right now. And who could blame you? Come on, I mean,_ _ **look**_ _at her. Of **course** you want her. Be honest with yourself, Rachel. You've wanted her ever since realized you were capable of feeling...that way about someone._

A pair of long, tan fingers snapped in front of Rachel's face, breaking her out of her reverie. Instantly aware of the goofy smile stretching across her face, she blinked and quickly tried to regain control of her lips, to no avail.

"Rachel? Hey, are you okay? You're not, like, about to have a seizure or something, are you? Because I have to tell you, just because Coach made us go to first aid classes doesn't mean I actually paid attention or anything."

Santana's voice initially sounded as though it was coming from far away, or through a long tunnel, but quickly gained in volume as Rachel emerged from her thoughts.

Blinking, she coughed to clear her suddenly dry throat and said, "I'm – I'm all right, Santana. I was just...thinking for a moment and got a little lost. That happens to me sometimes. I'm sorry to have alarmed you unnecessarily."

Santana chuckled. "Well, I wasn't about to call 911 just yet."

"Good, because I would have hated to explain that ambulance bill to my dads."

"Yeah, that might have been kind of awkward," Santana agreed. Her eyes sparkled with warmth. Rachel had to duck her head to keep from staring once again.

"So..." the cheerleader continued. "Are we just going to stand here, or are we going to get our eats on?"

Rachel's face lit up as an idea came to her. Her dads had left her money for food and anything else they might need. So why not...?

She marched into the kitchen and grabbed the cordless phone from its mounted base on the wall above the counter.

Santana was confused by Rachel's sudden move. What had gotten into the tiny diva now? "Hey, what are you – where are you going? Rachel?"

Rachel smiled triumphantly as she dialed the number, greatly pleased with herself. Okay, so she really should have thought of this sooner and planned it out properly. The old Rachel - the Rachel she had been before Santana Lopez had so thoroughly invaded her senses and clouded her normally hyper-organized mind - would have had this at or near the top of her list of things for them to do.

However, there was something to be said for being spontaneous every now and then. It seemed to work wonders in the movies.

"Hello? Breadstix? I'd like to place an order for delivery, please. Name? _Lopez._ Santana Lopez."

The enormous smile that bloomed on Santana's lovely face was worth the moments of confusion she had caused. Yes, being spontaneous was sometimes a very, very good thing.

"I'd like one order of vegan lasagna, please, and one order of fettuccine Alfredo. And oh, yes, extra breadsticks, please. That will be how much?" She grabbed a pen from the holder on the counter and wrote down the amount on a Post-It note she tore from the pad next to it. "Oh, the breadsticks are free? Thank you. Thank you very much." She gave her address and another 'thank you' before ending the call and hanging up the phone.

Rachel turned to Santana, beaming. It made her heart swell with happiness to know that she had pleased the girl with her surprise.

"They'll be here in twenty five to thirty minutes. I take it this meal meets with your approval?"

In seconds, Santana was in the kitchen, wrapping her arms around Rachel and planting a delighted kiss on her lips practically before the smaller girl could blink.

"It's a good thing their delivery times are so ridiculously slow, because that gives us at least twenty minutes to get our sweet lady kisses on."

Exactly twenty minutes later, Rachel was trying to catch her breath and reluctantly extricating herself from Santana's arms when the insistent ringing of her doorbell announced that their delivery had finally arrived. She hurriedly tried to smooth down her hair and clothing in an attempt to make herself look somewhat presentable before walking on somewhat wobbly legs to answer the door.

Equally tousled and in disarray, Santana lounged on the couch with a small, lazy smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, amused by the sight of Rachel failing to button her shirt up correctly. She hoped that Rachel wouldn't notice her licking her lips at the sight of the olive skin that was still visible above the topmost button. Or maybe she hoped that she would.

She was going to point out the mismatched buttons, she really was, but it was just too cute. She kind of loved seeing how discombobulated Rachel had become after only twenty minutes of kissing, loved knowing that she had this kind of effect on the normally calm and collected girl.

"You're adorable," she blurted out. She hadn't meant to let the thought escape her head, but there it was, and she wouldn't take it back for the world.

Rachel blushed even more furiously at the words as she opened the drawer in the little table in the hallway just by the front door to retrieve some of the money that had been left there. She ran her hand through her hair one more time and put on her pleasant greeting face before finally opening the door to greet the delivery person with a bright and chipper _Hello, how are you? Thank you so much. I hope you didn't have any trouble finding the house._

After a few more polite words – and a couple of twenty dollar bills ( _keep the change, thank you) –_ were exchanged, Rachel closed the door once again with one hand, the other holding the large delivery bag, emblazoned with the Breadstix logo, containing their food.

Santana finally rose from the couch, the tantalizing aroma of the world's best freaking breadsticks drawing her to where Rachel stood with a bemused look in her eye.

"What?" She said with mock defensiveness. "Don't judge."

"I didn't say a word, Santana. Your love of breadsticks is known to one and all. It's no secret."

Santana tried to glare at her, but the way Rachel was smiling all innocent-like, batting her lashes, compelled her to smile back.

"You're just lucky I like you, tiny," she huffed, taking the bag and making her way over to the kitchen.

Rachel was going to respond, but found she could only gape at the extra sway Santana put into her walk as she marched away. Thank goodness for tight, stretchy, form-fitting fabric.

The cheerleader smirked that infuriating, heart-stoppingly sexy smirk as she placed the bag on the table and moved the plates and bowls of snacks that were still sitting there over to the counter, enjoying the obvious effect it had on Rachel.

"Well, come on. This food isn't going to serve itself. I gots to have my breadsticks, and I gots to have 'em _now._ "

Laughing, Rachel rolled her eyes and finally followed Santana into the kitchen. "You _are_ aware that everybody knows you're not really from Lima Heights Adjacent, right?"

Santana shrugged. "Eh. Whatever. Doesn't mean I can't keep it real."

The rest of the meal proceeded largely in comfortable silence, punctuated by occasional flurries of light conversation about the Glee Club, the Cheerios, and the curious romance of Mr. Schuester and Ms. Pillsbury.

(Rachel thought it was sweet. Santana thought it was weird. They agreed, however, that Ms. Pillsbury was a far more suitable partner for their Glee Club advisor than his ex-wife, who was both mean and crazy.)

After Rachel mildly admonished Santana to not eat _all_ the breadsticks, or she wouldn't have room for dessert, they each enjoyed a bowl of ice cream – vegan strawberry for Rachel, regular chocolate for Santana – and then cleared the table, rinsed off the dishes and loaded them into the dishwasher.

Santana leaned back against the counter, her need for sustenance now fully met, with a look of absolute contentment on her face. Rachel was delighted to see it. She hoped to see that look many, many more times.

"So...you wanted to talk some more?" she asked. "Or has our dinner made you drowsy? Because we can go up to my bedroom and get more comfortable there..."

Santana's eyebrows rose. "Damn, Rachel. Are you...are you propositioning me right now?"

Rachel ducked her head, but kept looking at Santana through her long, long eyelashes. She bit her lip and jumped into the breach. "Well...what if I was? Would you say yes?"

Santana gently placed her hands on both sides of Rachel's face and connected their lips in a long, slow, deep, open-mouthed kiss that made the smaller girl tingle from the top of her head all the way down to the tips of her toes.

"What do you think?"

Still with her eyes closed, Rachel reached blindly for Santana, finding the back of her head, threading her fingers in the Cheerio's raven locks, and bringing their mouths together once more. Santana's arms wound around Rachel's small frame, her hands roaming up and down her back before coming to rest on the girl's ass, which she found to be wonderfully firm and tight, and perfectly shaped, as though it was made for her touch and hers alone. She decided to take a chance and lightly squeezed, not knowing if Rachel would like it.

The moan that spilled into her mouth was so much better than a simple _yes._

She squeezed again, harder, and Rachel bit her bottom lip before moaning again, louder.

"Santana -" she gasped, pushing herself away slightly. " - _God._ Wait, wait – you don't think this is – I need to ask you: you don't think this is all I want from you. Do you? Because I don't want you do to think that, I don't. It's just that you - I - oh, I'm really not saying this right. You just make me feel..." She threw up her hands, helpless against the sudden tide of emotion breaking inside her. "I mean, I want that, I do, but not...not _just_ that."

"Wait, what? No! No, Rachel. I don't think that at all," Santana said, perplexed, but not relinquishing her hold. "Where is this coming from?"

"I don't know, - I just want you to know that...that it's not -" Her breath came in halting gasps as she struggled to get her words out. "Not just about...sex. I mean, God, yes, I want you, but I want...I want _more_. More than that. I want..." Tears began to spill down Rachel's cheeks, landing on Santana's shirt. "I want to _know_ you, Santana. I want to...to learn things about you." She paused, calming herself, mastering her emotions, letting her thoughts come clear. "I don't want you to feel like...like I'm just... _experimenting_ here. I'm not, I swear. This is _real_ for me. If I'm going to do this, I...I have to know that it's real for you too."

"Rachel. Rachel, listen to me." She took the smaller girl in her arms once again, knowing what she needed to say, unsure that she'd be able to put her feelings into words, now that the moment was upon them. "It's okay. All right? I don't think this is about just one thing. It...it's about a lot of things. For both of us."

Santana's heart pounded. This was the conversation she had been wanting to have, and yet...now that the moment was here, she was suddenly afraid. Afraid of what it meant, of what the possibilities were. But feeling the way Rachel was trembling in her arms was all it took to solidify her resolve. Now was the time for her to both acknowledge and break from her past, away from the meaningless, empty physical relationships and one night stands and the aching loneliness, into something solid. Something based on a foundation of emotion and honesty.

Yes. Something _real._ And it was going to start right now.

"Look, I...I haven't ever been in what you'd call a _real_ relationship. I've had a lot of sex, and yeah, I'm really good at it. But feelings...I never actually felt anything for anybody I've been with. I know that sounds horrible, but it's true. I'm...I'm not proud of it. OK? I _did_ tell you I'm not good with feelings and stuff like that. You know that. But you...I feel something for you, and – and instead of wanting to run _away_ from it, I want to run _towards_ it. _Embrace_ it. I've never wanted to do that before."

Rachel looked up, into Santana's eyes, searching for sincerity. Searching for truth.

And there it was again, that deep, powerful sight _within._ Santana was laid bare to her, willingly now. Giving Rachel what she so desperately needed, unflinchingly, without a second's hesitation. It was almost physically painful to leave herself that open, that vulnerable. She had given Rachel the power to strike her down now with shocking ease. With one word, a single gesture, she could completely destroy her, blow her entire world apart. Santana's eyes slammed shut. She found that she was shaking. She braced herself for the blow, knowing there was absolutely nothing she could do to stop it.

But then Rachel's lips were on hers again, softly, gently.

"Thank you, Santana. I know it wasn't easy for you to say all that. But I want you to know...you've made me very happy." She sat herself down at the kitchen table again. "You know, in school, I make it seem like I'm always happy, like nothing bothers me. Not the slushies, not the getting pushed into lockers, or tripped so that I fall on my face in gym class. It's a lie." 

Santana sat down as well, unsure of where Rachel was going with this; but she was willing to follow, wherever it led.

"Do you want to know the truth? Well, the truth is, it _does_ bother me. It bothers me a _lot_. I come home most days and I cry. I cry, and then I wipe away my tears and I set up my video camera and I record another song and I post another video and then I wait for the comments to show up. And for those moments that I'm singing, I'm happy. Like I am when we're in Glee. And then the comments start coming in, and it slaps me back into reality. And then, I'm sad again. So sad that it scares me. All the time. I've been waiting for so long for another reason to be happy, or even just for someone to notice how unhappy I am. My dads. Ms. Pillsbury. Mr. Schuester. Anyone. But no one noticed. No one cared."

Rachel looked down at her hands, folded on the table. She was determined not to start crying again. No. She'd cried enough.

"No one. Until you. Until that one moment when you looked at me, and you _saw_ me. The _real_ me. And you _knew_. You knew. You _understood._ And you didn't judge. You saw me, and you still took my hand that day in Glee. You touched me. Not in anger, not out of malice, not to hurt. Just to let me know how you felt, even if you couldn't name or define what it was you were feeling. And that meant so much to me, Santana. I can't even begin to tell you how much."

Santana placed her hand on top of Rachel's. That was all it took. Just a small, simple gesture. Just the merest touch. But it was _everything._

"My dreams used to be all about New York, about Broadway. All about getting out of Lima, and never looking back. And now? Now all my dreams are about you - about me and you, about what we might have together, whatever it turns out to be. And I want _so badly_ for them to come true."

Santana rose from her chair, and Rachel stood up along with her.

She had felt hollow for so much of her life, but now Rachel was there, in her, filling those arid, empty spaces with her kindness, her compassion, her caring. Rachel gave so much to so many, and received so little in return. She was kind and generous to everyone - whether or not they deserved it - and all she ever asked for was respect. Not just respect for her talent, but respect for her as a genuinely good person. Respect enough to look beyond the brassy, bossy, opinionated exterior and see the hurt and longing underneath.

It made Santana's heart ache, knowing what how much Rachel had suffered, knowing the part that she herself had played in that suffering. But there was nothing they could do about their pasts. All that mattered now was the future, becoming the people they would need to be to leave this place, and all the pain they had known here, behind.

"Come on, short stack," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "Let's take this conversation upstairs. I believe we've got some dreams to start on."

Something sang inside her at the smile Rachel gave her then, as though she'd just received the greatest gift of her life.

She swore that she would give Rachel a gift too, one that she would never forget. The only one, right now, that she knew how to give properly, with her lips and her tongue and her fingers and her voice, her screams and sighs and moans and gasps.

Slowly. Patiently. All night, and into the morning, until exhaustion claimed them both.


	9. Chapter 9

Rachel had always enjoyed the comfort of her oversized bed. It was far too large for her small frame, almost comically so. Her fathers had joked when they'd bought it for her that she needed the extra room for all her big dreams. She was sure, however, that her dear, doting dads could not possibly have imagined that one day their daughter would need all that room to accommodate the form of the beautiful Cheerio sprawled out next to her. At this moment, watching Santana sleep, Rachel had indeed never felt more grateful.

The previous night had been an experience that Rachel would never forget (and she fervently hoped that Santana would feel the same way). In between rounds of heated kissing and touching, they had shared so much more about themselves with each other. They didn't know _everything_ about each other now – not by a long shot – but they knew far more than they had ever imagined was possible to learn in a single night. It was a revelation for them to learn how easy it was to talk to each other once the walls were torn down and all preconceptions were discarded, with trust freely given on each side. She'd been truly touched by the way Santana had allowed herself to be so soft and vulnerable with her, and in turn she had surprised herself at how honest she'd been with Santana. More honest, in fact, than she had ever been with anyone, even her dads.

Her voice, she was sure, would be a little worse for wear after all the crying, talking and other forms of vocalizing she had done the previous day, throughout the night and into the small hours of the morning. It was a trade-off she would make a thousand times out of a thousand. Especially with the way her body felt different to her now, having been touched in ways and places it had never been before. The second pulse of her secret self beat more in time with her own, closer to her skin than ever.

It had been a surprise to Rachel when Santana had declared that they would not be "going all the way," as she had put it, and looking back on it now, she was glad that the more experienced girl had applied the brakes. She wasn't quite ready for that emotionally, no matter how much her body protested in the heat of the moment. Santana had explained that their relationship was so new, so fragile, that it needed to be nurtured and allowed to grow without the extra pressures and insecurities that being completely physical too soon would inevitably bring. She'd said once again that this wasn't about sex for her, echoing her earlier words, and she'd meant it, too. Rachel had no doubt of her sincerity, especially when she'd placed her hand right on her heart as she spoke.

This, of course, was not to say that it had not been an extremely satisfying night for them, on several levels.

Rachel's gentle, forgiving nature had proven to be exactly what Santana needed when it came to getting her to open up and allow herself to talk about so many of the things she'd never spoken about to anyone before – not her parents, not Ms. Pillsbury, not even Quinn and Brittany. There had been many long pauses, extended periods of silence and halting, broken phrases as Santana struggled to exorcise herself of the once-secret doubts and fears that had plagued her for so long. But Rachel never pushed her, always let her go at her own pace, always respected the boundaries that Santana still needed to maintain even as she tried to shed so much of the emotional weight she'd carried for years.

Rachel seemed to know instinctively when to let the quiet of the night speak for them both. So many times, she just held Santana, stroking her silky hair, murmuring soft words of encouragement in her ear. That kind of simple comfort had been in such short supply for so much of Santana's life that she hardly knew what to do with it. All she could do was drink it up the way a person who had just come out of the desert would gulp down a bottle of cold water.

And then she thanked Rachel for it with kisses and caresses, offering up her own body, given willingly and received reverentially, like a holy sacrifice.

It wasn't all going to come out in one night.

But it was a damned good start.

* * *

Stretching quietly so as not to wake up the thoroughly exhausted Santana, Rachel surveyed the room and quickly ascertained the location of the tank top and sleep shorts she'd shed – _okay, let Santana remove –_ the night before. Reluctantly, she left the warmth of her bed to collect the clothing off the floor and soundlessly slip into her bathroom, closing the door with a barely audible _click._ Fifteen minutes later, she emerged re-dressed with her face washed, her hair put up in an artlessly arranged pony tail, and feeling the need to burn off some of the extra energy she'd built up during the night. Santana's lithe form was still in the same state of all-over sprawl, and Rachel noticed the girl's mouth was quirked up in a small smile as she watched her sleep for a moment. It was a smile of peace and contentment, a smile she'd never seen on Santana's face before. Rachel found it so breathtakingly beautiful that her heart actually ached a little at the sight.

She would kick herself later if she didn't preserve this moment for posterity.

Silently, Rachel padded over to her desk and grabbed her phone. There was just enough early morning light coming through the drawn curtains, framing Santana's face in a soft glow, making the dark waves of her long hair shimmer, splayed across the pillows. It was a perfect shot.

 _God, she's just stunning,_ Rachel thought, wanting to curl those raven locks in her fingers.

The shutter sound didn't cause even the slightest stir. Rachel sent up a silent, grateful _thank you_ to the gods of photography and returned the phone to her desk, resisting the incredibly strong urge to snap just a few more shots.

Let Santana grouse and gripe if she would later. It simply had to be done.

With a sigh, Rachel tore her gaze away from the stunning girl in her bed and eyed her elliptical with longing. Her muscles were begging for some sort of release, even after the previous night's activities, the thought of which brought a blush of heat to her cheeks. She crept across the carpet to the exercise machine and stepped onto it, carefully watching for any sign of a stirring Santana.

The machine whirred to life, and even this did not wake the girl from her slumber. Feeling relieved, Rachel began her half-hour routine fully resolved to cut it short if Santana should wake. Yet as she felt the muscles of her arms, shoulders, midsection and legs respond to the familiar movements, she became lost in her workout, all other thoughts disappearing. She let her eyes close, listening to the sound of her body humming.

Santana felt rather than heard the change in the room. She opened her eyes in confusion, realizing with a start that Rachel was no longer beside her, grumbling at the lack of a warm, small body pressing against her own. This feeling rapidly changed when she looked across the room and understood the reason for its absence.

Well, damn. Watching Rachel work out was _hot._

It had been one thing to feel the surprising strength in Rachel's limbs, in the solid muscle that had delighted her hands and fingers, the rippling of her midsection as the girl had writhed and quivered under her touch in the dark. It was quite another thing to see it at work now, the way everything moved beneath her smooth, tan skin, glistening with a sheen of perspiration.

Not for the first time, Santana wondered why the hell the girl insisted on hiding herself in the odd sweaters and loose blouses she insisted on wearing to school. She felt her mouth go dry and her heart rate speed up, wide awake now, as she watched Rachel move to whatever Broadway show tune was playing in her pretty head.

Oblivious, her eyes still closed, Rachel didn't notice when Santana rolled out of bed and tiptoed her way into the bathroom. Nor did she realize it ten minutes later when the other girl returned and crept back into bed with a triumphant smirk and a glint in her now sharp, clear eyes. She assumed her former position but kept her eyes open just enough that she could continue to watch her girlfriend do her thing.

Wait, what? _Girlfriend?_

Seriously?

Santana blinked, considering. She had already admitted to never having had a real, serious, committed relationship, to never having really felt anything beyond physical attraction for anyone before. And now it was clear to her that she did in fact feel something for Rachel, that she wanted more than just a series of clumsy hook-ups and tumbles in the dark. Suddenly, the girl who had never really felt 'normal' in her life wanted a 'normal,' stable, _monogamous_ relationship. She had to pinch herself to keep from laughing out loud and alerting Rachel to the fact that she was awake.

She watched Rachel move, took in the familiar look of unbreakable concentration on the girl's face - the one she knew so well from many happy afternoons spent in Glee - and felt her heart swell in her chest. How had she not seen how amazing this girl was from the first time they'd met? How could she possibly have been so blind, until the day when a pair of deep brown eyes had met her own, seen through her, _into_ her, and changed her forever in that moment?

A slow smile crept across her face. She felt almost giddy. _Why not?_

If she was going to learn how to do this, how to be happy - as she'd always hoped she might, one day - well, why not _now?_

And why not with Rachel? The girl was everything she could imagine ever wanting: smart, funny, incredibly talented, not to mention sexy as hell.

Still...it was risky. Santana had never been one to take too many risks. She knew too well what could happen when you took a chance and put yourself out there, made yourself vulnerable to the expectations and judgments of another person.

But she also knew that Rachel was the least judgmental person on the planet. She was accepting and nurturing and giving in a way that no one else in her life had ever been, except maybe for Brittany. But there was a major difference there: Brittany's sweetness was born of a sort of childlike innocence, one that had not been ripped away from her only because of the protection she had always received from Quinn and Santana. Rachel, on the other hand, had taken the worst that McKinley could dish out, yet somehow she still retained her essential goodness and her belief in the essential goodness of others, even those who had tormented her on a daily basis.

Risks be damned.

She sat up in bed, purposely rustling the blankets, stretching and yawning in exaggerated fashion. She knew that the sound would instantly break Rachel out of her elliptical-induced trance, since the girl had incredible hearing to go with her perfect pitch. Sure enough, Rachel's eyes popped open, and she froze at the sight of Santana stretched out on her bed wearing only a lazy smile, content as a cat in a sunbeam.

"S-Santana," she croaked out. "You're - you're awake."

"Good morning, _estrella._ I gotta say, I'm mighty impressed with your moves on that thing. Shame there's no room for two on it, though."

"Um, yes," Rachel stammered, unable to connect her brain to her mouth in any sort of functional way. "Clearly...a design flaw. Yes."

"On the other hand," Santana lowered her voice to a silken purr. "There's lots of room...over here."

Rachel remained immobile, held in place by the dark eyes and the smooth, only slightly raspy voice of the cheerleader in her bed. All she wanted to do was leap across the room, wrap her arms around the girl and kiss her senseless. But her feet refused to obey her brain's screamed commands. It was as though she had been hypnotized and rendered helpless to do anything until the secret word was spoken.

"You know...for my... _girlfriend._ "

Blink. Blink.

_Secret word acknowledged. Shifting into kiss-attack mode in 3...2..._

Several hours later, Santana didn't even have the strength to grouse and gripe about the picture Rachel had confessed to taking while she'd been asleep. Drowsily, she resolved to take a few pictures of her own when the girl wasn't looking, before falling back into an exhausted slumber.


	10. Chapter 10

"Santana! Wake up," Rachel called as she gently shook the sleeping cheerleader's shoulder, trying - and failing spectacularly - to rouse her from her deep slumber. "We simply _cannot_ spend the entire day in bed, as enjoyable as that might be. I have several suggestions for fun and entertaining activities for us to share, and I would like your input as to which we should pursue for the remaining portion of the day."

"Mmmph...midgets attacking...make 'em go 'way...please...Rachel, help me..." Santana mumbled into the pillow, her face buried so deep in it that it was only barely visible.

Rachel didn't know whether to be amused or insulted at that. Either way, she was not one to ever be deterred by a little resistance in the pursuit of her goals, so she continued to stand at the side of the bed and call Santana's name while vigorously nudging at the other girl's shoulder.

"Santana, you are _not_ being attacked by midgets or anything else! You are simply being asked to wake up so that we may have breakfast and then plan the rest of our day."

"No...no...no...please...don't make me wear that vest, Mr. Schue...can't...rock...a vest..."

Huffing in exasperation, Rachel rolled her eyes and tried again. "Get _up,_ Santana! Please."

"Britts...ride the unicorn...and head for the castle...save Princess Hummel..."

That was it. Rachel stomped her foot, then jumped onto the bed, landing hard enough to jolt Santana awake, causing the Cheerio to sit bolt upright in confused agitation. "What the _hell,_ Rachel?"

" _Finally!_ You sleep like the dead, Santana," Rachel said, unable to keep herself from laughing at the slightly crazed look in the other girl's eyes and the disarray of her dark hair sticking up and flying away in all directions.

"Yeah, well. Sue Sylvester's twisted love of early morning cheer practices plus a certain tiny banshee doing all sorts of not-very-PG-13 things to me all night equals a _very_ tired and grumpy not-morning person," grumped Santana, wiping the last remaining vestiges of sleep from her eyes. "What freaking time is it, anyway?"

"It is now eight-thirty. I admit, I'm guilty of oversleeping as well," Rachel replied, not noticing the mortified look of horror on Santana's face, which had settled there since the time had registered in her still slightly fuzzy brain. "By an entire _hour!_ I _never_ do that. Waking up at seven o'clock on a Sunday morning is simply _unheard_ of in the Berry household."

Santana whipped her head around and fixed Rachel with a disbelieving glare. Rachel flinched - an involuntary reaction brought on by seeing the flash of anger in the Cheerio's eyes – then immediately felt guilty for it.

"San – I – I'm sorry...I'll...I'll just let you get back to sleep," she said quietly, hanging her head. Her shoulders slumped in as she slowly removed herself from the bed. She couldn't quite keep from letting out a sniffle as she turned to walk over to the door. How had she managed to ruin everything so quickly? This would be a new record, even for _her -_

" _Rachel."_

She stopped in her tracks, frozen. This was it. Things were over before they had even really begun. She just _knew_ it.

"Come here."

"Wh-what?"

"You heard me. Come here." She heard the soft _thump, thump_ of Santana patting the space next to her on the bed. When she still didn't move, Santana spoke again, more quietly: "Hey. Come on now. I'm not going to hurt you or anything, I promise."

Turning around slowly, Rachel faced the tanned beauty still sitting up in her bed, a vision of tousled loveliness. Santana was so beautiful, it made Rachel's eyes sting with tears to look at her. Already her body ached at the memory of how Santana had touched her. She felt her heart clench at the way that expert touch had made her feel, regretting that she would never feel that way ever again. The hot sting of tears pricked at her eyes as she squeezed them shut. She turned her back to Santana; she really didn't think she could handle it if Santana saw her cry right now.

"Hey. Don't cry. Please. I...I can't handle crying at this time of the morning. Or any other time, really," Santana joked, raising a small, watery smile on Rachel's face. "Turn around. Look at me, please."

Rachel did as she was asked, wiping furiously at her eyes, willing herself to stop trembling even as she felt her heart breaking in two.

"Listen. I'm sorry if I scared you a minute ago. I just – I'm not used to waking up next to someone, let alone at eight-thirty on a Sunday. I'm...not used to a lot of things. But I'm trying here. I suppose you could have guessed I'd be a little grouchy in the morning, but you didn't _know,_ not really."

Hope blossomed in Rachel's chest as her heartbeat quickened. "You...you're not mad at me, then? You're not going to break up with me?" She cringed internally at how _needy_ she sounded, but couldn't find it in herself to care. "I mean, I don't know if we're even really together, in any official sense, yet. But I know that I certainly _want_ to be together – and I promise, I swear on all that is Broadway, I will _never_ wake you up before nine o'clock -"

"Ten."

"What?"

Santana smiled. "Before ten. That's as early as I can stand to get up on a Sunday. Best I can do. Thank God for afternoon church services. Which my parents let me out of this weekend, before you ask."

"Oh, God, you must think I'm so _stupid."_ Rachel sniffled as she sat down on the bed, wringing her hands in the hem of her shirt. She fought to keep herself from breaking down completely, trying to avoid looking even more foolish than she already had. "I don't have any idea what I'm doing here at _all,_ do I?"

Santana surprised her then, sitting upright and tenderly framing Rachel's face with her own hands to keep her from ducking her head or turning away. Then she looked her straight in the eye and said firmly, "No, Rachel. I don't think you're stupid at all. You're one of the smartest people I know. You just...you didn't _know,_ okay? And..."

A smile bloomed across Santana's face, stealing Rachel's breath away. The hummingbird in her chest beat its wings once more.

"And?" she whispered, hardly daring to breathe. To breathe was to hope.

" _And..._ yes, Rachel, we're together. Offcially." She rolled her eyes at Rachel's earnestness even as she lowered her hands to take both of Rachel's in her own. "What I said last night, when I called you my girlfriend...I meant it.This – us – whatever _us_ is. I want it." She nodded at the other girl, who nodded back with a still uncertain _do you really mean it_ look on her face. "I want late night phone conversations and ice cream dates. I want movies and dinners and walks in the park and all that other corny rom-com stuff, and I want it with you. Okay? Please don't doubt it, or me. We're good."

Rachel beamed, allowing her unshed tears to fall at last, because now they were happy tears instead of tears of complete devastation.

"I'm going to hug you now."

The smaller girl launched herself at Santana like a missile, wrapping her in an embrace so tight it nearly drove all the breath from her lungs; but once she recovered from the initial shock, she gently returned the hug, reveling in the warmth and the pleasure of Rachel's body pressing against hers.

"Thank you, Santana. Thank you for giving me...for giving _us_ a chance. I swear I won't ever let you down."

"Well, that's good to know, tiny, but I need you to let me _up_ now."

Rachel raised her head, her cheeks flushed an adorable shade of pink, her eyes widening first in confusion, then in embarrassment as Santana tilted her head toward the bathroom door.

"Um...right," Rachel said, flustered, as she released Santana from her hold, rising from the bed. She tried to mask her discomfort first by toying with the hem of her _Wicked_ T-shirt, then smoothing down non-existent wrinkles in her gray yoga pants, and finally lowering her eyes to the floor as though something very interesting had suddenly caught her attention there. "Why don't I just meet you downstairs in the kitchen? I'll start breakfast while you...um...freshen up."

Santana got up too, stretching her long, slender limbs before making her way to the bathroom door. She couldn't suppress a grin at Rachel's sudden shyness. It was kind of adorable.

"Sounds like a plan. See you in a bit," she said, and with the wink of an eye and a toss of her hair, she disappeared into the bathroom. Rachel shook her head as she headed down the stairs to prepare their breakfast.

When Santana came downstairs fully dressed a half hour later, refreshed and reinvigorated after a quick shower, she found Rachel putting the finishing touches on their breakfast: waffles made in her fathers' beloved waffle maker from her daddy Leroy's mother's secret family recipe, which had only recently been bestowed upon Rachel despite the fact that she'd been old enough to use the waffle maker without supervision for several years now - well, ever since the infamous "frozen waffles in the waffle maker incident," anyway.

She had arranged fresh fruit salads for each of them in little bowls next to the large plates upon which the almost equally large waffles waited to be topped with real maple syrup - and to Santana's utter shock, she had even cooked several strips of bacon for her and placed them neatly in a square formation all about the round, fluffy waffle.

"Well, this is certainly a refreshing change from Sue Sylvester's master cleanse," Santana observed dryly, drawing a laugh from Rachel, who beamed proudly over her perfectly arranged breakfast table as though she had created a masterpiece of modern art.

"That was kind of the idea," said Rachel as she poured orange juice from a large carafe into two tall glasses. Once the juice was poured, the glasses placed beside the plates and the carafe set aside, Rachel beckoned the cheerleader to the table. "Well, come on. Sit down. The sooner we have our breakfast – which _is_ the most important meal of the day, after all – the sooner we can get on to discussing the many possible activities to follow."

Santana sauntered up to the table and took a good look at what Rachel had done. "You know, I was expecting maybe toast and coffee, or possibly some kind of weird vegan protein shake, but _this?_ " she paused, shaking her head in amazement. "Is actually kind of awesome, short stack. You did all this for _me_?"

"Well, no. I did it for _us_ ," Rachel replied, gesturing between them in the same way Santana had earlier. "Somehow, I didn't think a smoothie or a cup of yogurt would be an appropriate way to express my gratitude for you being here."

"Yup – nothing says _thank you_ like a waffle the size of my head," Santana cracked. "Message received."

Rachel rolled her eyes, but couldn't hold back her laugh. "Oh, hush, you. There's some actual butter in the refrigerator if you want it, by the way."

Santana looked up from her waffle, which she was drowning in sweet syrupy goodness, and smiled. "Yes, please."

They ate in comfortable silence, stealing glances and trading shy smiles. Rachel marveled at how this was all strange and new, yet felt so easy and familiar. Absently, she pictured them like this in the future, breakfasting on the deck of their Manhattan penthouse, watching birds fly between the skyscrapers. Santana, for her part, felt proud and thankful that she had somehow found the courage to admit to and act on the surprising and unexpected feelings she'd developed for the girl sitting across from her. She had no idea what the future held for them, exactly, but she was excited to find out.

Then Santana noticed that Rachel was staring at her.

"You stare a lot, do you know that?"

Rachel startled, broken from her Cheerio-induced trance. "Hmm, what?"

Santana chuckled. Confused Rachel was kind of adorable, she thought. It was extremely rare to see the girl lacking her trademark composure in almost any situation.

"I said, you stare a lot. Not that I blame you, of course. All this?" Santana gestured up and down her face and body. "It's a lot to take in at once."

Blushing furiously, Rachel ducked her head and mumbled a protest through a mouthful of waffle. "I wasn't _staring!_ I was merely... _appreciating_."

"Oh, so that's what we're calling it now?

Rachel looked up at that and playfully stuck out her tongue. "You're incorrigible."

"If by that you mean smokin' hot and criminally sexy, then I plead guilty as charged."

"Oh, really? And what is the penalty if convicted?"

Santana got up from her chair and walked over to where Rachel sat. The diminutive singer looked up at her and squirmed, shivering involuntarily at the heated look in her girlfriend's eyes.

"This."

Santana leaned down and pulled Rachel's head up with a hand behind her neck to connect their lips in a sweet, maple-flavored kiss.

"Mmm...tasty," the Cheerio said, licking her lips as Rachel sat there blinking at her. She was tingling from head to toe from the sensations the kiss had sent shooting through her entire nervous system. Her body hummed with electricity, and all she wanted to do was kiss Santana again and again - but then she remembered the way she'd chastised Santana about not spending the entire day in bed and somehow throttled down her desire.

"Yes. Well. Er...duly noted," Rachel stammered, clearing her throat before taking a long drink from her glass in an obvious attempt to cool herself down, though the sway of Santana's perfect hips as she walked back to her chair on the opposite side of the table made coherent thought entirely too difficult. "I suppose now would be a good time to discuss our choice of plans for the rest of our day?"

"I vote for anything that includes getting our mack on some more."

After spending an hour debating the relative merits of going to the movies versus going shopping in town versus taking a walk in the park, it was decided that the quiet of the park was preferable to the crowds at the theater or in town, once Rachel promised Santana that they could continue to "get their mack on" at a particularly secluded location the Cheerio knew to be an excellent make-out spot.

So they took Santana's car and drove through town with the windows open and the stereo up loud, singing along to the "New Directions" playlist on Rachel's iPod, and they smiled so wide and laughed so much, with the wind whipping their hair back and their voices seeming to fill the entire town, that both their faces ached slightly by the time they got to the park. It was a beautiful day, warm and sunny and cloudless, the sky an endless band of light blue heaven, and as they parked the car and began their walk, Rachel thought this day couldn't possibly get better.

And yet it did, when Santana's hand reached for and found Rachel's. She laced their fingers together, swinging their arms lightly in the air between them.

They walked a little while, not talking much, and Rachel was content to hum a wandering, wordless tune as she stole glances at Santana, biting her lip as she thought how insanely sexy the Cheerio looked with her wind-blown hair, her dark sunglasses and her tight jeans. She let the taller girl take the lead, allowing her to direct their steps into a more wooded area of the park, while the families and pet owners strolling with their children and running with their dogs stayed on the wider, more traveled paths, and the sounds of people and laughter and barking gave way to silence and solitude.

Rachel was enjoying the quiet, feeling almost as if she were walking through a dream, when Santana stopped suddenly, almost causing Rachel to stumble over her own feet. She looked around and said, "Well, here we are. This is it. My favorite place in this whole crappy, backward-ass town."

She looked around, taking in the scenery. "It's beautiful, Santana. I had no idea you were such a nature lover." Rachel's voice was low and soft, though of course there was no one around to overhear them.

"Yeah, well, I'm just full of surprises lately, aren't I?"

Rachel smiled, squeezing Santana's hand, their fingers still intertwined. "That you are. And I kind of like that about you."

Santana leaned back against a tree and sighed, letting the sun's warmth caress her face. She didn't speak for a while, and Rachel let her have her silence, somehow instinctively knowing that she needed it.

"I know I said this was a make-out spot - and yeah, I guess it is, or it could be – but I actually come here to think and be alone sometimes. When things...get to me, and everything seems to be too much...this place calms me down, helps me put things into perspective. When I'm here, I feel like i can find some kind of peace, at least for a little while. It's the only thing I've ever known that's done that for me."

She let Rachel's hand go to take off her sunglasses, and though they both missed the contact immediately, she wanted the other girl to see her eyes when she said what she was going to say next.

"Or at least it was, until now."

Rachel's eyes widened.

"I don't even know how you've done it, or even what it is you've done, but...being with you, being around you – I feel calmer, more in control of myself, more at peace than I ever have before. It's strange, somehow. I'm not used to feeling like this, but I like it."

Emotions played across Santana's face, swirled in her eyes like leaves in the wind. Rachel stepped toward her, not wanting to interrupt, but unable to keep away, drawn to the other girl as though tethered by an invisible rope tied between them.

"I always thought I'd be alone, Rachel. And I...I thought I was okay with that. I thought I was okay with hearing about other people's relationships, listening to friends or relatives or even strangers in the store or at the mall talking about love without ever knowing what it would be like to love someone myself." Rachel used the pad of her thumb to wipe away the tears that streamed down Santana's face as she spoke. "I was so angry, so pissed at the world, at my family, whatever, you know. Like, how could I want it when I was so obviously incapable of it, too fucked up to ever understand what it meant?"

"Santana," Rachel whispered. "You're not -"

"No. Please, let me finish. I was prepared to live my life that way, and I was fine with it - or at least I'd managed to convince myself I was. And then _you_ happened. You tore all that away, completely ripped apart the fictional existence I was living. And it's scary as shit, you know? I thought I knew how my life was going to be, and I was prepared for it. But now – now I don't know _anything_ beyond the fact that I can't believe I ever thought I was going to settle for that. Settle for living like a fucking emotional zombie, settle for whatever crumbs of happiness fell off someone else's table – Quinn's, Brittany's, whoever."

"Oh, Santana."

"Now? Now I don't have the faintest fucking clue what my life is going to be like at all. I only know that I can't imagine you not being a part of it, and I don't know how the hell that even happened. You just _looked at me_ , and my entire world fell to pieces. You changed _everything,_ Rachel. I don't know what you did, or how you did it, and I don't even care. I – I just -"

Santana reached for her then, crushing Rachel against her body as though the smaller girl was the only real, tangible thing in the world to her. Rachel held her just as fiercely, knowing what it took for Santana to be this vulnerable, this honest.

"Don't hurt me, Rachel. Please. Just – whatever else you do, don't hurt me, okay? Because if - if you break my heart, I won't survive it. Okay?"

The only way to answer was with a kiss, the breath of life. Rachel crushed her lips to Santana's, pushing Santana's back against the rough bark of the tree. With the sun streaming down through the leaves like a benediction, she kissed her promise into Santana's mouth, moaned it into her throat, Santana's hands in her hair.


	11. Chapter 11

Santana gazed out the front passenger window, keeping her eyes firmly trained on the scenery flashing by as they drove away from the park. She knew that if she didn't keep her attention diverted, she'd just stare at Rachel and grin like an idiot. She kept silent as well, for fear that she would start babbling on and on about how wonderful and special and amazing Rachel was - and if there was one thing that Santana Lopez simply did _not_ do, it was babble, _ever_. Frankly, she was in a state of emotional exhaustion, and that meant she couldn't trust herself to behave the way she normally did around Rachel at this point.

The silence wasn't one of tension or uncertainty. It was more a silence of calm and contentment, a moment of peace and reflection, as each turned over the afternoon's events in her mind. They had come to a point where they were more sure of where they stood with each other than ever before, and each felt a new kind of ease in the other's presence as a result.

Santana had finally admitted her fear of heartbreak - and in doing so, she'd made herself vulnerable in a way she'd never dared before. That fear, never spoken aloud until today, was the reason why she had never been able to commit herself to a real relationship until now. To say that confronting this reality at long last was a breakthrough would be a vast understatement. There was still a residual worry lingering in the back of her mind, but Rachel's reassuring smile made those tiny doubts vanish instantly.

For her part, Rachel was grateful that Santana had chosen her as the person to whom she made her confession. She felt honored to be the one to kiss the cheerleader's tears away, to hold her and tell her that she had nothing to fear. She knew Santana had needed to hear that for a long, long time, and her heart swelled with happiness at giving her the reassurance she had so desperately craved. Somehow, she felt special in a way she never had before; it was a better feeling than any competition victory, more real, more substantial, far less fleeting. It was a feeling of which she would never tire.

If she hadn't already gleaned the meaning behind the phrase "it is better to give than to receive" back when she was a child - well, she surely understood it now, in the very core of her being.

Rachel understood that Santana had retreated into herself in order to process everything that had happened between them so far this weekend, especially her near-breakdown in the park. She also knew that trying to force the girl to talk before she was ready was a sure way to invite disaster and discord. Yet she felt the need to once again reassure the mercurial Cheerio that that no harm would come to her as a result of her being so open and honest about her feelings. Santana's emotional terrain was a perilous landscape, fraught with hidden traps and deeply buried land mines, and Rachel wanted more than anything to help guide her through it as safely as possible.

So instead of talking, which was always her first impulse, Rachel simply reached her hand across the center console to grab Santana's hand and give it a gentle squeeze, as if to say, _You're okay. We're okay. Everything is okay._

That finally drew Santana's attention. She turned to Rachel with a small but grateful smile. It wasn't much, but it said everything that needed to be said in that moment, and at last, she shifted in her seat to refocus her gaze.

"I don't want the weekend to be over," Santana said. Her voice was soft, her tone uncharacteristically subdued. "I don't want to go back to school. I don't even want to go home. I just want us to stay in our own little bubble forever."

Rachel smiled at the thought. "That would be nice, wouldn't it? No name calling, no slushies, no research papers, no homework," she replied. Then her face paled as another realization struck her. "Oh, no! That would also mean no Glee!"

Santana laughed. The sound warmed Rachel's heart. She could listen to that sound all day, every day, and never get enough of it. "Okay, okay. We can go back to school, but just for Glee. Maybe we'll make it a Glee-only school. How does that sound?"

"As long as you're with me? Perfect."

"Can we get your mom to teach the class, though? She's so much cooler than Mr. Schue."

Now it was Rachel's turn to laugh. "That's true, she is. But I like Mr. Schue, too." She paused, collecting her thoughts. "He's helped us all a lot, with so many things. As bad as things can get at McKinley, I have no doubt they'd be a whole lot worse without him and Ms. Pillsbury and Coach Bieste around."

Santana's eyes fell to her lap. Rachel saw the guilt stir in her eyes and silently cursed herself for darkening the mood. "I guess so. He tried to get me to talk to him a few times, you know, but I kind of pushed him away. Ms. P, too. I just couldn't trust anybody. Couldn't let anyone in...until you."

Rachel's heart clenched with sadness even as it filled once more with determination to do whatever it would take to make Santana happy. "Sometimes it's hard to share our pain, but that's what makes it easier to bear. You _don't_ have to be alone, Santana - not anymore. I'll _always_ be here for you, no matter what. Together, we can get through anything."

"You promise?"

Santana didn't look up, but the hopeful tone in her voice couldn't be missed, and Rachel heard it loud and clear.

Rachel fervently wished that she could hug Santana in that moment, hold her close and run her fingers through her thick, beautiful hair; but she settled for squeezing Santana's hand once more. She channeled all her hope for the future, all her desire to replace Santana's pain with joy, into the touch.

"I promise."

* * *

When they returned to Rachel's house, they found themselves pretty much over the heaviness of Santana's emotional breakdown in the park and getting a second wind of energy. Rachel bounced into the kitchen to make lunch for them and grab two bottles of water from the refrigerator, while Santana plopped down onto the couch and turned on the TV, grabbing the remote the coffee table. She flipped mindlessly through the channels, the sounds and images flashing by almost too quickly for them to be registered. It was something she often did at home when she wanted to quiet her mind and find a moment to reset herself.

Her attention wandered from the screen to the sound of tuneful humming from the kitchen. She laughed silently to herself when she realized what the song was, then began to sing along with the familiar melody.

_Since I've come on home, well my body's been a mess_

_Cause I miss your ginger hair and the way you like to dress_

_Why don't you come on over – Stop making a fool out of me_

_Why don't you come on over, Valerie?_

Both girls dissolved into a fit of laughter, bringing the song to an abrupt end. Their hearts felt warmer and lighter just the same.

Santana found herself drawn once again to where Rachel was, as though she were metal and Rachel a powerful magnet, almost unconsciously. She abandoned the TV to march with purpose into the Berry kitchen, where she was struck by how large the petite diva's presence truly was. It drew her in like a moth to a flame, and all Santana wanted to do was get closer to her, as close as she possibly could.

"Rachel," she breathed, grasping the smaller girl around the waist and pulling her in. The closer she got, the more insistent her need became. Her skin warmed, her pulse raced. Her head spun as she let herself become intoxicated by Rachel's closeness.

There was something in the way Santana said her name that sent a shiver down Rachel's spine, igniting a low flame in her as it traveled all the way back up. She reached up to caress Santana's cheek, and the taller girl leaned into the touch, her eyes closed. A small sound of happiness not so much a sigh as an almost cat-like purr escaped Santana's lips; she honestly couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so content, so at peace with herself.

Rachel wrapped her arms around Santana's neck, and that powerful magnetic pull drew her lips down to meet Rachel's in a soft, sweet kiss.

"Thank you," Santana whispered.

"Not that I don't appreciate the sentiment – or the kiss, for that matter – but for what are you thanking me?"

"For being you. For changing me. For everything. This weekend has been so amazing..." Santana sighed. A strange look passed over her features then, one that Rachel couldn't decipher. "There's no way everybody at school isn't going to be able to tell that something's happened between us, you know."

"Is...is that a bad thing? I mean, do you _not_ want people to know? Do you want to keep this... _us..._ a secret?"

Rachel's heart sank at the thought of being made to keep their blossoming relationship under wraps, not when everything in her wanted to sing and shout about it from the roof of McKinley High. Flowers only bloomed in the light, she knew; this thing, this special, precious thing that was happening between them, would never survive hidden away in the shadows. She braced herself to hear the words she didn't want Santana to say: that they should keep this between them, that the world didn't need to know their business, that they didn't need to give anybody more reason to spit names at them and throw slushies in their faces.

Santana frowned, only holding Rachel tighter when the other girl thought she'd want to let go. Rachel melted into the embrace; now _she_ was the one who needed reassurance.

"No. I'm done hiding. I'm done being afraid of what people will think, or what they might say. I don't give a damn. Let them stare when they see me walking into school and down the hall with my girlfriend." She paused; Rachel's head tilted up to meet her eyes, and the fire she saw in them thrilled her to the core. "I'm tired of lying to everybody, lying to _myself,_ about who I am and what I want. And I'm sick of being angry and feeling miserable all the time - for what? You know what? Screw it. I don't care about my rep. Being with you doesn't make me any less of a badass."

It took a few seconds for Rachel to process what Santana had just said, but once she did, her eyes widened. She was stunned. Stunned, elated and overwhelmed. Santana's eyes were boring into hers with the same intensity her words had just carried, and she found herself lost for a reply, captured by that dark gaze. Santana's raised eyebrow signaled her amusement at the smaller girl's flabbergasted expression.

"Okay," Rachel said, after taking a deep breath. "First, you're absolutely correct. Being open and honest about who you are does not make you less of a...badass, as you say. If anything, it makes you even stronger, because you don't have to expend any energy on hiding and denying anything, on maintaining walls to guard your secret from the world."

Santana smirked, and it was appallingly sexy. "Damn right." It was all Rachel could do to not swoon in the cheerleader's arms.

"Second – am I...am I _really_ your girlfriend?" The last word was almost a gasp. "Because right now, I can't think of anything I would like more."

"You want to be my girlfriend more than anything? Even more you want to be a Broadway star?" Santana teased, barely stifling a laugh at Rachel's indignant expression.

"It's not as though I can't be _both,_ you know," Rachel huffed. "But right at this moment? I'd have to say yes."

"Wow. I never thought I'd see the day when Rachel Berry wanted anything more than stardom on the Great White Way."

Rachel pouted, but didn't pull away, much to Santana's relief. She was rather enjoying the intimacy of their embrace, and she knew that Rachel was too, despite the pout. "I'm glad you find this so amusing, Santana."

"Hey, I'm just saying. You want to know the truth? It makes me feel pretty special to rate above Broadway, honestly."

With that, Santana tilted her head down to kiss away Rachel's pout. The light brush of their lips quickly turned into a series of heated, passionate kisses, and before long, they were both dizzy, gasping for breath and smiling loopy smiles.

"I think," Rachel breathed, "this is an occasion for celebration. I had planned to prepare a couple of simple but tasty sandwiches for us, but now I feel that would be terribly inadequate, considering the magnitude of the decision that's just been made here. Why don't we get ourselves showered and changed, and then head over to Breadstix for a more proper celebratory meal? My treat."

"Sorry, what was that? I zoned out after the part about the shower." This earned Santana a light smack on the arm. "Ow! Hey, I said I was sorry," she said, rubbing the spot where Rachel had whacked her, pretending that the blow had actually hurt.

"Santana, if we were to shower together, we'd never get to Breadstix before my dads got home. In all probability, we'd never get there at all. Now, in the interest of ensuring that we will have the time for a leisurely and therefore enjoyable meal, why don't you go upstairs and use the shower in my bathroom while I use the one down here?"

Now it was Santana's turn to pout. "Aw, you're no fun."

"On the contrary, I'm _lots_ of fun – when it's appropriate and there is time to fully enjoy it. Which is another reason why I want us to get going quickly, actually. The sooner we finish at Breadstix, the sooner we can get back here and have a celebration of an entirely different sort." Rachel lowered her head and looked up at the taller girl with a rather pointed expression. "I trust you understand what I mean. If not, let me put it to you another way: does the phrase _get our mack on_ paint the picture clearly enough for you?"

Santana's jaw dropped. Rachel tried and failed to fight down the impulse to laugh at the look of actual shock on her face, but was still polite enough to cover her mouth with her hand as she let out a giggle.

The cheerleader's eyes narrowed, but there was no malice in her voice, only challenge, as she crossed her arms and asked, "How fast can you shower, tiny? Because I'll bet I can get ready faster than you can."

Competition was something that never failed to stir Rachel's blood. "Oh, you _will_ , will you? Well, I'll bet that you _can't._ Winner pays for lunch."

"Hey! I thought you said this was going to be your treat!"

"It _was,"_ Rachel smiled sweetly. "Until _someone_ thought it was a good idea to bet against me. Really, I would have thought you'd have learned by now, Santana – it is _never_ a good idea to challenge me."

Santana opened her mouth to reply, but Rachel had already spun on her heel and begun racing towards the master bathroom, leaving her newly minted girlfriend in the dust.

* * *

Breadstix was the go-to restaurant in Lima for dates, business lunches, birthday parties and pretty much every other occasion, a place where servers and regular patrons were on a first name basis, and the chefs all knew the particular tastes and preferences of said regulars, preparing their meals accordingly. Santana's love for the place's famous breadsticks was infamous, so it was no surprise when they found not the usual one basket of the delicious doughy items, but _two,_ waiting for them on the table when they sat down at their table.

Rachel could not suppress a giggle as she watched Santana attack the first of what would be many breadsticks to be consumed. The cheerleader, wanting to be on her best behavior for their first official date, pointedly ignored her girlfriend's laughter in favor of savoring the breadstick's warm, seasoned, chewy goodness.

"I've always been amazed by your ability to eat those things all the time and never gain a pound," Rachel remarked. "Honestly, I don't know how you do it."

"Oh, please," Santana replied around a mouthful of her second breadstick. "Watch a Cheerios practice sometime and you'll understand real quick. It's not just a bunch of jumping around and waving pom poms. It's weight training and calisthenics and endless laps around the track. Since the start of school, I've gained five pounds, but not a single ounce of it is fat. It's all muscle, baby."

"So I've noticed." Rachel blushed at the memory of staring unabashedly at Santana's naked body and taking in the perfection of her lean, defined, athletic physique. "Your musculature is quite impressive. I wish I looked half as good as you, honestly."

"Hey, hey," Santana objected. "Stop that. I never told you this before - but honestly? Even when I thought I didn't like you, I had to admit that you've got a pretty smokin' little body, beneath those ridiculous sweaters and absurd pantsuits you wear. I'll fight anyone who says otherwise."

The unexpected – and very welcome – praise caught Rachel by surprise. She blushed harder still at Santana's words, but before she could say anything in return, their waitress appeared seemingly out of thin air to take their drink orders. Santana ordered herself a diet Coke and Rachel asked for hot tea with lemon - "It's good for the vocal cords," she explained. Santana rolled her eyes at that.

"Of _course_ it is."

The petite diva hid her still-heated face behind the tall Breadstix menu. She was used to receiving compliments for her voice, but compliments on anything else – especially her body – had been few and far between. It would take some time, but she could definitely get used to it.

A light tap on the front of her open menu jarred Rachel's attention away from the less than impressive list of vegan options, and a moment later, a slender, tanned finger pulled the menu down and away entirely.

"Hey," Santana said softly. Her eyes shone with affection and concern as she held Rachel's flustered gaze. "Don't do that. Don't hide yourself from me. Or from you. Embrace all the awesome that you are. You're more than just your voice. I'm sorry – more sorry than I can ever tell you - that I didn't allow myself to see that until very recently, but it's true. You just need to believe it too. Okay?"

"I'll try," Rachel murmured. The old insecurities rose inside her, making her feel shy and nervous. "It's not something I'm used to, that's all. I mean, if anyone ever said anything about something other than my voice before, it wasn't very complimentary. You've heard the names – _man hands, treasure trail."_ Santana cringed at the words that rolled so casually off Rachel's tongue, knowing that she had said them at one time or another herself, without ever truly believing in them. _"_ So I imagine you can understand why it's difficult for me to feel or believe that I'm attractive for any reason beyond my vocal ability."

Frowning, Santana took Rachel's hand, gently squeezed it. She knew that her apology would be meaningless without action behind it. In that moment, she vowed to do whatever it took to get Rachel to see herself the way she saw her, to believe that she really was more than just her voice. That she was beautiful and special, for so many reasons - and yes, that she was very, very sexy too. Simply _telling_ Rachel wouldn't be enough; no, she would have to _show_ her, in all sorts of ways. Again and again and again...

"Santana? Are you with me? Our lovely server, Janet, has just asked if you've decided on your meal selection, or if you need more time."

"Um, yes," the Cheerio answered, feeling more than a little dazed, and slightly embarrassed, by the train of thought her brain had been riding before Rachel brought her back to reality. She cleared her throat and sat up a little straighter in her chair, peered intently at the menu for a moment while the waitress watched her with a look of studied indifference.

"In the interest of allowing my girlfriend an extra moment or two to peruse the menu and make her final choice, I would like to order the vegan lasagna, please. Thank you ever so much, Janet, for your fine service."

Santana poked her face out from behind her menu and mouthed _thank you_ to Rachel as the waitress scribbled down the order.

"And for you, Miss...?" the waitress asked, her pen tapping in a steady – and _not_ _at all annoying_ – rhythm against her note pad.

"I'll have the grilled chicken over penne with marinara sauce, please," Santana finally said, her voice tight with the barely suppressed desire to decapitate the waitress with the now-closed oversized menu in her hand. "Thanks," she added coldly as she handed the menu over and glared menacingly at the woman, who paled and hurried off to the kitchen to turn in their orders.

Rachel eyed her curiously. "What was _that_ all about?"

"I didn't like her attitude," Santana shrugged. "Bitch shouldn't be staring at me while I'm trying to figure out what the most edible thing on their jacked-up menu actually is. I'm not down with a case of food poisoning. _No me gusta._ "

"Well, Santana, I must say that I'm very proud of you for not biting her head off the way I could tell you wanted to. I appreciate you keeping your cool like that. After all, I would like us to be able to return here for many future dates."

All of the anger Santana had felt toward the waitress melted out of her body when she realized the implications of what Rachel had just said, and she found it impossible to keep a goofy smile from spreading across her face. Heat colored her cheeks as she reached for yet another breadstick to distract herself from the fluttering swarm of butterflies that had just taken up residence in her stomach.

"Future dates, huh?" she asked, her voice small and shy and completely unlike the one she normally heard coming out of her mouth.

"Many," Rachel replied, giggling. "That is, as long as you don't singlehandedly wipe out their entire supply of breadsticks and get us banned for life."

Santana threw the last bit of her breadstick at Rachel, intending for it to hit her in the face. Her aim was a little off, though, and it landed in Rachel's hair instead. They broke out in a fit of laughter so loud that several other patrons had to turn from their meals to tell them to quiet down.

"Damn. We might get banned from this place anyway," Santana gasped, wiping at her eyes with her napkin.


End file.
